


The Sea Inside - Act Five

by UglyWettieWrites



Series: The Sea Inside [5]
Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Broadchurch AU, Domestic Violence, Drama, Emotional Hurt, Hardy x Miller brOPT feels, Heavy Angst, Ieva Fromm, In which we discover why Alec has a complicated relationship with the sea, Multi, Plot Twists, Post-Season/Series 03, Rough Sex, Soul Bond, True Love, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-11-02 17:45:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10949568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UglyWettieWrites/pseuds/UglyWettieWrites
Summary: Seven months after the explosive events that tore them apart, both Alec and Clara are still dealing with the sorrow of losing each other.Clara is sinking slowly in Frank's growing empire of filth, and Alec is just barely getting by, trying the best he can to take care of his beloved Daisy. But what does he have left when Daisy's finally ready to grow up and move out?Contains:Act Five - Part 1Act Five - Part 2Act Five - Part 3Act Five - Part 4Act Five - Part 5Act Five - Part 6Act Five - Part 7Act Five - Part 8Act Five - Part 9Act Five - Part 10





	1. Act Five, Part 1

**7 Months Later**

**Minsk, Belarus**

 

She walked out of the limo and hugged the heavy fur to her body. The icy wind cut into her cheeks. She ran into the open door, resenting it had to stay open for him and his pet du jour. This week, it was an Italian girl just turned 16.

For him, it was a magic number.

She took off her fur hat and fluffed her hair. In the last six months, she had gone through some physical changes - she’d gotten another nose job, a boob job, and liposuction in Brazil, immediately after leaving London. The camera added 10 pounds, after all. She resented who she saw in the mirror. It wasn’t her. Her hair was now shoulder-length and honey colored. Her lips were padded with collagen.

She was a doctor, playing a whore. She checked her lipstick in a hallway mirror. Or was it the other way around?

He came through with his arm around the girl’s waist. She walked behind them, head held high. The silly girl gave her a dirty look that she had seen a hundred times before.

She wondered why Frank kept Clara around. Why Clara was alpha, although she was older.

Frank was an amoral, vile bastard, but he was loyal. And he loved her, in his way.  When she disappeared, he only had enclaves in Houston, Tijuana, and Washington DC. In just years, his ring had grown to cover France, Morocco, Italy, Russia, Belarus, Ukraine, China, the Philippines, and of course, Thailand.

They were in the middle of a world tour of sorts. He was proud of what he had amassed, and with every stop, her heart dropped a little. He went from being a criminal to an invincible hydra, and with every day that passed, she was more tangled up in his filth.

They were escorted to a large room with leather padded walls and pulsing trance music. People walked around in costumes and grotesque masks. Sex acts were performed out in the open, like perverse art. She was numb to it all.

She took off her coat. She wore red latex ball gown that was translucent enough to show the enticing darkness between her legs. She put on the matching gold mask. A waitress, nude except for gold dust and a mask, walked by her with a tray of champagne. She plucked a flute off as she passed and drank deep.

The people on the floor below how bounced in unison as they began to count down the remains of the year in Russian. The Italian girl leaned against the balcony, waved her champagne and counted in Italian.

Frank walked beside her and raised his glass. She did the same.

The lights began to flash golden at the strike of midnight, and he bent to give her a kiss on the forehead.

“Another year, another dollar,” he said, squeezing her waist tight. “I’m so glad you’re here with me, where you belong. You look beautiful.”

“Thanks, Daddy,” she said. “I’m glad too.”

He nuzzled her, then walked away to wish a happy new year to his pet. She gave Clara a jealous look before giving him a sloppy kiss in the mouth. It was kind of sad, really. She didn’t know that she had already been offloaded to a Russian IT tycoon. This was their last night together.

Frank had loyalty, but only to her. And even then, he felt the need to remind her who was boss with the back of his hand more often than not.

She sucked on her bruised lip, which was well camouflaged by lipstick. He had woken her from her sleep with his last beating, just three days ago. She was frightened and confused as he hit her with a bamboo switch he kept by the bed while roaring about wiping out the stinking memory of that weak motherfucker once and for all-

She had whispered his name in her sleep. More than once. In tears. With love.

He mentioned having him killed. She did everything in her power to calm him, getting on her knees, kissing his feet with tear-wet lips and offering every pleasure she knew well he couldn’t resist.

In the end, after his second orgasm, he had calmed down. Her body still ached from the beating. Her skin was criss-crossed in black and blue - it was the reason she wore the long sleeved ball gown. Regardless of the agony, it was a blessing in disguise, since she could not perform until her bruises healed and they would not heal completely for weeks, if not months.

He had been very furious.

She followed him around like a faithful dog every since that night. She went where he went, eavesdropped every word he spoke in the hopes that he had truly forgotten his threat. Alec believed her dead and buried. He most probably moved on, but she was far from it. But she was a good actress. She could endure, however long it took. She would bear the weight of her pain willingly, if she could gather the courage to do what she came to do. But the task seemed more impossible with every passing day.

Her eyes drifted back to Frank. He greeted someone below - a solitary nod - and turned back to the party. He didn’t need to do anything more. He was quickly becoming king of sleaze. And her, his reluctant queen.

* * *

 

“Ten! Nine! Eight!” Ellie yelled the loudest, with the plastic champ flute in her fist. There was a plain gold band on that hand now - her and Mel had married three months prior in a ceremony that had him dangerously close to tears.

Her and Mel held each other.

“Three!Two!One! Happy New Year!” she screamed joyfully, and they gave each other a long, lingering kiss.

_ Should old acquaintance be forgot, _

_ and never brought to mind? _

_ Should old acquaintance be forgot, _

_ and old lang syne? _

 

Everyone sang around him, but he just stared at the gold bubbles in his flute. He couldn’t sing. The words stuck in his throat.

Ellie came around and pulled him into a joint hug with Mel. “Go on then, sing a verse with us,” she said. Her eyes were limpid with sympathy.

 

_ We two have paddled in the stream, _

_ from morning sun till dine; _

_ But seas between us broad have roared _

_ since auld lang syne. _

 

He stared at her, but his mouth didn’t move. She gave up and poured a bit more champagne in his flute.

“If you insist on being silent, have another drink,” she said, and filled her own cup. He touched the cup to his lips, but he couldn’t swallow.

She rubbed his back. “You okay?” she whispered. A couple walked past them into the garden for a private kiss. His eyes followed them. His lips disappeared.

Him and Grace. [They made love on the only New Year’s they had together.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10861332) In a garden, much like Ellie’s. He was scandalized until he felt her legs around his hips. 46 years, he never did anything like that. But she brought it out of him.

“Thank you so much for being here with us, Alec,” Mel said. “We know it’s not your scene, but still. You came.”

He turned his head toward the party slowly. “Of course. You and Ellie have been amazing to Daisy and I in the last year,” he said. Daisy was at university, and she lived with Alec in Grace’s old apartment, much to Ellie’s chagrin. He raised his cup, and Ellie and Mel clinked it. “To new beginnings,” Ellie said, kissing Mel.

“To new beginnings,” Alec repeated, then swallowed hard.

* * *

 

He left soon after, wanting to be home when Daisy got there. The ride was uneventful except for a couple of zigzagging cars that he only had the wherewithal to pout at. He just kept his distance and sped on.

That song echoed in his head. He hated it. His father, always drunk, but drunker than usual on New Years, would bellow it out in his broad Scottish and slap his back if he didn’t sing loud enough. However much he tried to forget, he remembered every cursed line.

_ But seas between us broad have roared. _

Although in his mind’s eye he saw Ellie’s sweet face singing it, it was his father’s voice he heard.

He parked in front of the apartment building and climbed the stairs to the door two at a time. He hoped Daisy was already safe at home, but he doubted it. He opened the door and dropped his keys in the red bowl. The place was silent, dark.

He loosened his tie as he walked down the hallway. He pushed Daisy’s door open with a finger. Of course, she wasn’t there. He went into his closet and slung his tie in a hanger bowed with the weight of them - most of them blue. There was only one purple one, and a red one. Both gifts.

He never wore them, but he refused to get rid of them.

He took off his trousers and threw them on a pants press, a novelty Daisy had given him as a housewarming gift. Although at first he had thought it ridiculous, he couldn’t deny that it indeed, did press his pants into a decent state. He didn’t look quite so rumpled. He unbuttoned his shirt and hung it up by a solitary black suit.

He only wore it once, so it was pristine. Daisy suggested he give it to Oxfam, but he couldn’t hearten himself to touch it, much less put it in his car, drive somewhere and give it away.

He kicked his shoes off and stared at the dusty corner of the closet floor, where there was a solitary box labeled ‘Tip’ in Daisy’s neat handwriting.

He promised to drop off the box with the suit, but he hadn’t gotten around to it yet. He sat down indian style, in his pants, on the closet floor and pulled the box toward him.

Inside, there was three pairs of women’s shoes, a red sweater, and some photographs. He took the sweater in his hands and pressed it to his burning eyes.

It was the sweater Grace wanted to wear to Daisy’s party. The faintest scent of her still clung to the fibers. He looked at the photos. Him and Grace at the beach in Broadchurch with Ellie and Fred. He pouted in the shade of a bathhouse, arms across his chest. Grace mugged for the camera, her tongue out, in a white bikini. Another photo of them at the shops, picking out art prints. She posed by a life size version of the Venus de Milo, her face mock grave. He remembered everything about that day - the coffee scent that clung to her skin, giving her his scarf because she’d lost her hat to the canal in a stiff breeze - and it was agonizing.

There were several more, then the one he treasured most. Her, twirling in a white dress for his eyes only, in the garden.

Her dark eyes sparkled and her hair billowed round her face - she looked like something out of a dream.

_Something out of a dream._

He groaned softly in pain. He had seen the ravaged body, missing its head, hands and feet, with the toothless, hairless head poised beside it like an  exhibit.

It had been her. Her lovely limbs were charred and black, her smile wiped out forever by a monster she had willingly gone to. Or so they say.

He’d also seen the CCTV. She walked freely from limo to plane, then into that warehouse. She put on lipstick, a sleazy red dress. She smiled at the toadies who delivered her to her death.

Frank had disappeared, along with any evidence that Grace Lastra had ever existed. Everywhere. And Clara Zamora was a glaring dead end.

That charred mass haunted him. His doctor, now an older Indian gentleman with a gentle voice, prescribed him a sleep aid, but he never took it. He was afraid the more he slept, the more he would dream. And he knew he would dream of Grace, because his heart demanded it.

He’d put lilies on her grave, prayed fervently for the first time since his  Presbyterian youth, but it brought no respite.

The knowledge that something was not right - something beyond his own sorrow - tugged at him, took away his sleep. Grace was dead. Perhaps, if he had not jumped to conclusions and stayed until she came home that night, told her exactly what happened between him and Tess, she might still be alive. But there was something more than guilt pulling at the edges of his mind.

Why had he cut her up so horribly? Burned her body and dipped her toothless head in acid? She died from a bullet to the back of the head, what they  called a textbook gangland killing, but there had been no mention of Clara being an explicit part of that world in the information that Tess compiled. In life and at the end, she had been just another victim.

Why kill her so heartlessly, so soon when she he had nothing to lose by letting her live, and nothing to gain by murdering her?

He had asked these questions out loud, more than once, to the consternation of Zed, Tess, and Ellie. Only Mel had remained quiet when the others had urged him to let it go. But he wasn’t very close to her, and she seemed averse to his sorrow.

Frank was powerful enough to walk her out of a police station and make her disappear. What more is he capable of?

Coercion? Lies? Murder?

Not necessarily only of Grace-

_ Clara, her name is Clara _

Not necessarily only of Clara, but others. How clever was he truly?

He looked down to see he had crumpled the photo while deep in thought. He cried out and smoothed it on his knee, then carefully put the things back in the box, and closed it.

“Clara Zamora,” he said out loud to the closet walls. “Clara. Who are you?”

“Dad?” Daisy’s voice was muffled. She knocked softly on his bedroom door.

He wondered whether she had heard him talk to himself. He decided not to worry about it.

He quickly put on his long blue robe and opened the door.

“Happy New Year!” she said, blowing a glittery party horn in his face. She gave him a hug and kissed his prickly cheek. He held her for a couple of seconds longer, then kissed the top of her head.

“Happy new year, sweetheart,” he said, and took the party horn and threw it over her shoulder. “Did you have a good time?” He looked into her eyes for signs of inebriation, but she was bright eyed as ever.

She pulled him to the parlor and sat him down on the sofa.

“I have news,” she said, giving him a giant grin.

“How much will it cost me?” he said, an old joke that he never tired of.

“Nothing. Well, I think nothing. Unless you’d like to send me off with a little spending money…” She bounced in her seat.

“Alright. So, you know I’m studying social work - as a segueway to police work  - and there is an internship program to the US that takes people in excellent standing at school to volunteer building low cost housing, helping in medical and job fairs, assisting actual social workers-

“Wait. In the United States? Aren’t there poor people here?”

“Dad. It’s connected to the University of North Carolina, a really good school, and if I do well, I might be able to go at very little or no cost to you.”

“That school sounds really familiar. Isn’t that the school Finn’s going to in the fall?”

“A little. Yeah.” She gave him another smile.

“How are you dealing with that?” he asked, crossing his legs.

“Like this. If I can go, do really well, I have a good chance of being accepted as a sophomore. Then, her and I don’t have to be an ocean apart.”

“I’m still confused. So, she’s gonna be in this volunteer internship thing as well?”

“She’s kinda the one who talked me into considering it.”

“And when exactly does it start?”

“In two weeks from Tuesday. If I were to say yes, we’d be flying out next weekend.”

“Jesus, Dais. Why didn’t you tell me earlier? I don’t like the sound o’ this. There’s plenty of needy poor here. Help them. Why d’you have to go to the ass end of creation to do it?”

“Because it’s where Finn is. And I don’t want to be here alone.” She took off the party hat she wore and put it on the coffee table.

“You’re not alone. You have me,” he said, but he knew it was no consolation.

“Sure, dad. But it’s not the same.” Tears dripped down her cheeks. She hugged him tight. “You know I love you. You’ve more than proven yourself to me and mum. But I think I have to do this,” she said. Her slim body trembled. She didn’t have to say. He knew she was worried about him. Deeply. But she also longed to move on, be with Finn.

And she deserved to have that, however it played out.

“You have grown up to be the kindest, cleverest, loveliest young woman. Far more than I deserve, for all my effort. Although I will miss you, you should go. I’ve only been to the US once, with your mum, as an anniversary trip.”

“Oh, I remember. You went to New York. The weather was horrible and it was expensive and you were miserable. Mum talks about it all the time.”

“I can be a sour shit sometimes,” he said, shrugging. “I asked her forgiveness. And now I’m asking for yours.”

She gave him a tender look. “Dad!” She hugged him again, then kissed each cheek. “I forgive you. Maybe, one day, you’ll come visit? I know the American south isn’t as miserably cold as New York. You might like it.”

“Meh,” he said, shrugging. She laughed. “I’ll visit. But I can’t promise I’ll enjoy it.”

“Fair enough,” she said. She squeezed his hand, then kissed it. “Thanks, dad. I’m gonna go tell Finn the good news!” she jumped, then ran to her room and closed the door.

He stayed there, unmoving, until the sun came up.


	2. Act Five, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank introduces Clara to the key to his new kingdom, a hacker called Ieva who will be staying at the party mansion with them. Just as Daisy and Finn leave for America and the internship, Tess makes a concerning confession to Hardy.

Frank stumbled out into the icy gray dawn. The girl did not accompany them into the limousine - she was long gone. She was completely sober, but he reeked of whiskey and cigarette smoke.

“Comeer, Birdie,” he said, patting the seat beside him. She moved silently to his side. He gave her a sloppy kiss, then reached for another bottle of champagne. “We need to celebrate!” he yelled loud enough to make her wince. “I’m at the top of the world, baby!”

He popped the cork and poured the champagne into neat glasses and handed her one. He raised his glass.

“What are we toasting to?” she said.

“To money. And humanity’s craving for illicit sexual activities, and their willingness to pay top dollar to see them,” he said, leaning into her and trying to kiss her on the mouth. She let him, then took a sip of the champagne. She was still none the wiser. He rolled his eyes, slammed her glass of champagne, then his own.

“You know that ‘Russian IT tycoon’ I gave Genny to?”

“You mentioned him. Once.”

He poured himself another glass of champagne. The boozy scent of it was beginning to sicken her, but she remained poker-faced.

“Only once? Well this dude is our ticket to the big leagues, honey! With what he’s given us, only the sky’s the limit. I won’t have to be limited to enclaves and CCTV. We’re gonna go worldwide now!”

“How so?” she asked.

He raised his eyebrow. “How so?” He pressed his lips to her ear. “Dark Net.”

“What?”

“It’s the seamy back alley of the internet, Birdie. Where the real nasty shit goes down. And we’re gonna set us up a nice little shop there.”

“Is that safe? You’ve got a pretty good system so far, right?”

“That’s the thing. It’s only pretty good. It’s all word of mouth and manila paper packages, and we can only get away with so much. If I move through the net, we’ll not only get many more customers, but I’ll be able to move my money invisibly. No more secret accounts in far off places.”

She nodded slowly, but she was not reassured. This news fucked up her timeline, but she didn’t know quite how much. She needed more information, but he was slowly passing out on the limousine floor. She pulled him up to the seat and lay his head on her lap.

He roused. “Oh Birdie. We have an important guest tonight. Really important. Make sure to roll out the red carpet,” he said, and burped.

“Of course, baby,” she said.

She was mystified.

* * *

While he slept the day away, Clara did what he requested. He called a chef to discuss the night’s menu, then recruited their usual coterie of beautiful young men and women to serve and entertain. The ordinarily well-manicured grounds of the private residence where they stayed while in Eastern Europe was covered in nearly two feet of snow, but the house was huge, with many rooms in which to hold erotic tableaux or have a quick shag if the opportunity arose.

She couldn’t get used to such casual affluence. Frank had always been wealthy, but he always put forth the image of humility. He no longer cared. The house where they stayed had solid gold fittings, an art deco greenhouse with a pool, and a garage full of vintage cars.

She once loved him, really cared about his happiness and well-being, but he was a different man now. She couldn’t help but be remote, no matter how hard she tried to reconnect. Frank was not a foolish man. Although during the day she could pretend at happiness, she couldn’t suppress her dreams, no matter how many pills she took in hopes she would pass out in a dreamless stupor.

Worst of ll, she was beginning to feel dependent on them to endure. Her, a doctor, hooked on pills.

At least she wasn’t performing surgeries anymore.

She missed practicing medicine. Frank occasionally had her treat one of his pets for a cold or minor injuries - usually caused by him - but nothing at the level which she used to practice. She confided her feelings to him, but he did not understand, since he never loved medicine. He only practiced it to manipulate the weak. She felt the need to practice, make amends, since her education was paid for with dirty money. She was nearly there when she met Alec. Now, she was back at square one.

She looked at herself in the mirror and pulled on a tendril of hair. She still surprised herself when she looked in the mirror. Everything was different. Her hair. Her face. Her body.

At first, she didn’t understand why Frank spent over $100,000 on her so soon after their reunion. As she turned, still nude, in front of the three-way mirror, she understood why. She was no longer Grace. She had been wiped away not only on paper, but on flesh.

She squeezed her firmer breasts, then tugged at her lips.

She was blowsy. Tacky.

Would Alec even recognize her? And if he did, would he even want her? She looked more like a starlet than the doctor he had known.  

She put on her lingerie, and started to dress carefully. Off the rack clothes had quickly been replaced by haute couture. She put on a archive McQueen dress with crystals embroidered densely to resemble the wings of a butterfly. Although she shone like a jewel, the dress was heavy on her body, weighing her down. She missed the simple, well - cut clothes and soft sweaters she wore in England. She missed Grace.

She missed Alec.

She did not allow her emotions to register as she put makeup on in front of a lighted mirror, but tears filled her eyes. She grabbed a tissue and carefully wiped them away before they fell.

 She didn’t know whether she was being watched.

* * *

 She dreaded waking Frank, but it was nearly time for their mystery guest to arrive. She shook him, then took two steps back. He waved his arm to slap, then growled.

“Fuck off.”

“Everything’s ready for tonight, honey. Your guest will be here in half an hour.”

He sniffed, then jumped out of bed, instantly energized.

“Holy shit, why didn’t you wake me earlier?” he said as he ran past her and into the bathroom. She sighed and walked back to the parlor, where an almost nude young woman poured champagne into flutes. Clara walked up to her and put her arm around her waist. She smelled like almonds, and her hair was a river of red silk down her back.

“No no no, pet. If you pour too early, it will be warm by the time the guests come.”

She nodded at her, body stiff with fear. She thought Clara would slap or kick her, like her previous owner had. Clara shook her head and caressed her freckled cheekbone. “It’s okay, Jan. We have enough champagne to float a battleship. Just remember - don’t pop your cork until the party is gasping for it.” She picked up a flute, drank it down, then grabbed another. She was nervous, and Frank didn’t like her nervous. He liked her loose, with a clever mouth and an easy laugh.

A slim sylph of a man walked up to her. “Madame, our guests are coming up the drive,” he said in a heavy European accent.

“They’re 15 minutes early,” she said, biting her lip. She clapped and smoothed down her dress. “Places, everyone! Sergei, turn on the music!”

Instead of chamber music, grinding industrial drifted through the house. She gave Janina a quick kiss on the cheek. “It looks like you popped just in time,” she whispered in her ear. The girl glowed. She stood in front of the door, waiting. With Frank’s ever-growing business interests, it could be anybody. From anywhere. She hoped they spoke one of the languages she did.

“Sergei, come here by me,” she said, thinking quick. He spoke fluent Russian, plus enough French and Chinese to get by. They took a deep breath, then opened the door to the cold, starlit night as a van pulled up. She was expecting a limo. She shrugged.

A tall, wiry blonde in a slouchy knit cap and too much eyeliner jumped out of the driver’s seat and ran, two steps at a time, up to the door. She panted lightly and gave her a crooked grin.

“The amazing Clara.” she sucked her teeth. “Frank won't stop talking about you,” she said in a heavy bavarian accent.

“Really?” she said, looking toward the drive for another car. She was like every millionaire’s daughter she’d ever met. Forcefully eccentric.

She noticed and laughed. “There’s no one else coming. It’s all me,” she said, striding in confidently. She grabbed a flute of champagne from Janina and gave her an appreciative look as she tugged off her hat and stuffed it in the back pocket of her ripped jeans. Sergei started to close the doors.

“Isn’t anyone going to get my things?” she said. “And be gentle. Some of that equipment is worth more than your lives,” she said, and drank down the champagne.

Frank bounded down the stairs, freshly washed and smiling.

“Ieva, you’re here!” he said, and gave her an enthusiastic handshake. “ I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding us.”

She shrugged. “Not at all. That’s what satnav’s for.” She took off her jacket and threw it on the floor carelessly.

 _She has to be some rich asshole’s daughter_ , Clara thought, but her smile did not falter. Janina picked it up and made it disappear.

“I’m starving,” she yelled, bending double with passion. “All I’ve eaten in the last 72 hours is chocolate and Red Bull.”

“Dinner will be ready in 10 minutes, and there are appetizers in the parlor,” Clara said.

“Good,” she said, and ran into the room. She grabbed a handful of canapés and stuffed them into her mouth. Her cheeks blew out like a puffer fish with bread.

Frank sidled up next to her and put his hand on her elbow. “Just look at her. She’s our golden ticket, Birdie.”

“Is she?” Clara said, looking at her greasy blonde hair and her worn grunge clothes. “She looks more like rich girl slumming it in Eastern Europe.”

“She’s not. But I’m about to make her a very rich woman,” he said. Clara gave him a puzzled look.

She washed the enormous mouthful of food down with some white wine and gave her a grateful smile. Clara nodded and walked away to check on dinner. She might not have manners, but she’s kinda cute, she thought.

Kinda.

* * *

 Clara gave her a jaundiced eye but didn’t say anything as grabbed the medium rare ribeye with her hands and tore into it.

“Will I be moving around with you, or will this now become my place?” she asked with her mouth full.

“Mi casa es su casa,” he said. To Clara’s surprise, he sounded nervous. “But only for another month and a half, then we’ll move to Southeast Asia. You will, of course, go with us.”

She sucked on her greasy fingers. “You do realize that I work wirelessly? I don’t actually need to be in a place to have full access to it.” She didn’t even look at him.

Clara looked at Frank. He did not like being condescended to, and anyone who dared would get at least a dirty look, if not a faceful of fingers. He remained calm.

“Of course! It’s just that our operation is new in Thailand, and I would appreciate it if you could oversee all the technical stuff. It would be a one-time thing.”

“Right. Wouldn’t want to fuck up the technical stuff,” she said, through a mouthful of potato. She looked at Clara. “By the way, these are some really good eats.”

“Thank you…” she didn’t catch her name earlier.

She swallowed. “Ieva. My dad’s German, but my mother was very Lithuanian and she insisted.” She pronounced it ee-EH- _vuh_.

“It’s beautiful,” Clara said. “Eve, right?”

“Da,” she said, attacking some brown sugar-roasted carrots.

“Where are you parents now?” she asked, trying to make conversation. Frank’s eyes grew.

Ieva’s eyes darted to her face, saw no intention to hurt, then went back to the carrots. “Dead when I was a little kid. Murdered.”

Clara’s face dropped visibly, and Ieva noticed.

“Don’t be sorry. I’ve got enough sorries from people to last me a whole lifetime. Everyone is sorry, but no one gives a damn.”

Clara nodded. “My mother died too. In childbirth.” She was surprised to hear her own voice crack. It had been years since she spoke of it.

Ieva nodded. “I won’t say sorry.” But her eyes were sympathetic.

“Thanks.”

Frank looked back and forth between them, then clapped his hands. “This conversation just turned into a shitshow. After dinner, Clara has arranged some top notch entertainment,” he said. “No dead mommies anywhere to be found.”

“Sounds like a scream, but I’ve got to set up as soon as possible if you want things done in the timeline you gave me,” Ieva said.

Frank’s mouth fell open. Again, Clara observed, sure he would yell. Instead, he nodded judiciously.

“Of course, of course. Just let Clara know if you need anything else. We’ll get it as soon as possible. Price is no object. We can leave the revels for another night.”

“Now you’re speaking my language,” she said, quite chipper. “This is going to be fun, man.” She wiped her fingers then her face on the tablecloth and stood up, walking past them and into the hallway.

Clara rolled her eyes. Frank shrugged.

She was back less than 10 seconds later, looking sheepish.

“This house is fucking huge. Where exactly am I staying?”

“Clara and Sergei will show you,” Frank said, dabbing his lips with a napkin. “I will be flying to Russia later tonight. We can touch bases once I’m there.” He grabbed Clara by the neck and gave her a deep, lingering tongue kiss. His hand moved from her neck and into her hair, where he pulled painfully. She groaned into his mouth. He bit her bottom lip, then kissed her neck. Her pulse jumped underneath his lips.

Good.

“I will be back in three days, Birdie. Behave,” he said, wiping the lipstick from his mouth. Ieva gave him a bewildered look.

“Yes. Okay.” Clara stood and cocked her head at Sergei, who waited quietly in the corner. He guided them through the main hallway, up the stairs, and into a wing that Clara had not even cared to explore. They walked into a room decorated in a rococo fashion in red and gold. She ran to the window, then the bed, which was hung over with red brocade.

“Fuck, this is bananas,” she said, giggling. “I love red.”

“The room was a fortuitous choice, then,” Sergei said. “Would you like to see the rest?”

“The rest? There’s more?” She unzipped her hoodie and threw it on the bed. She wore only a wifebeater underneath, and no bra. She didn’t really need one, since her breasts were small and firm. Her nipples poked through the fabric. Sergei tacitly looked away.  She waited patiently while Ieva peeked into the bathroom “Fuck, I could fit three girls in this shower with me!” she yelled to them and then she bounded into the hallway, excited.

“Where’s my gear, Sir gay?” she said, winking dramatically at Clara.

He walked with unbruised grace to the room across the hall, where there was an impressive set up of giant UHD screens. Clara’s eyebrows rose. There had to be at least 6 40-inch screens pushed together on the far wall. A few large, black boxes hummed beside a work table with a strange ergonomic keyboard and a cluster of half-naked anime figures.

She ran to the consoles and shook the mouse. The screens came to life, each with a different image.

“This is sick!” she yelled, then ducked to look for something underneath the table. She opened something underneath and came back up with a chilled Red Bull.

“Everything is here. This is the first time this has happened. 10 points to Slytherin,” she said, winking at her. Clara pouted. She didn’t know this had been going on. She looked at Sergei and he gave her an inscrutable smile.

It must’ve been him.

She shotgunned the Red Bull and threw the can into the trash. “Even my schön anime babes are here,” she said. She sat down to inspect them.

“There’s a lot less-” Clara put her hands under her breasts and squeezed, “-this in the collection than I’ve seen. Frank loves anime as well. It’s a huge thing in the fetish world.”

Ieva laughed. “These women are not here to be sexy, although they are. They are here because they are strong,” she said.

“Ahh,” she said.

“All of them want to save the world in some way,” she said, nodding at the figures. Clara took a closer look at her. She had tattoos going down both arms. The stereotypical pinup girl on one arm. On her other arm, there was a Japanese-style tableau with a woman at its center. On her upper arm, she walked down a flowered path, holding an umbrella. On her forearm, she held a sword, and her white kimono was stained with blood. Ieva noticed, and extended her arm.

“Yuki - Lady Snowblood. Ever heard of the flick?”

Clara shook her head.

“It’s based on a manga, but I’ll be the first to admit I didn’t read it. The movie was gnarly, though. Kill Bill was seriously inspired by it.”

“I’ve seen that. Pretty gory.”

“Yep. Revenge isn’t a clean business,” she said, and twisted her hair and stuck a pen into it. Clara’s eyes drifted to her long neck. A black bar was tattooed from her hairline and down the valley of her back. Without thinking, she touched. Ieva reacted, shying away from her.

Clara withdrew her fingers. “Sorry. We get a bit too comfortable in this house sometimes.”

Ieva bit her lip. “I have a thing with touching,” she said, rubbing her neck. “You like it?” she asked.

“It’s a black bar.”

Ieva stood and lifted her shirt, revealing a smooth tight belly...and scars. Tiny silvery ones that traced repeated oblique trails below her belly button. Her muscles tightened in Clara’s gaze, so she stared pointedly at her back, where the bar ended right over her ass.

“It’s ... dark.” Clara smiled.

Ieva shrugged. “It keeps me grounded,” she said.

“Does it work? Maybe I should get one,” Clara said.

Ieva looked at her. Clara noticed her eyes were not pale blue, but gray. Velvety gray, with green specks near the iris.

“Nah. You’re good.” She scrunched up her nose.

“I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. Frank doesn’t like ink on his top-tier girls.”

Ieva’s eyebrows rose, but she remained impassive. “ Wouldn’t want to ruin the merchandise,” she said sardonically. The comment stung Clara more than it normally would. Objectively, she _was_ his belonging. For now, at least. But she didn’t like hearing it.  Ieva saw Clara’s mouth twitch with displeasure and felt instantly bad, but she didn’t mention it. She didn’t want to get too familiar.

“Uh, you’ve got some lipstick on your chin,” she said, typing lightning fast on her keyboard. Clara wiped her lips on her arm. Her face was hot with embarrassment. So much for being a smoldering temptress. All but two screens went black. Script, illegible to Clara, scrolled rapidly down the remaining screens.

“I should get started. Thanks again for dinner, Clara,” she said. She gave her a cursory glance and smiled. “You look much better without the red.” She referred to her lipstick. “Kissable. I guess I’ll see you around. Maybe.”

“Good night,” Clara said, and walked out behind Sergei.

 

* * *

Clara walked to her bedroom and pouted.

As beautiful as the house was, it was a prison. She couldn’t go out without an escort, and she wouldn’t know where to go anyway - the place was alien to her. At another time, it would’ve been an adventure. Now, it was just being trapped. She sat at her vanity and went through the drawers, looking for her pills. The bottle was there, but it was empty.

 _Fucking Frank_.

He’d found them and flushed them - there was no other explanation, since she had a 30 day supply just yesterday. She felt a ripple of fear. He didn’t like her self-medicating. He said many times he didn’t want her to be a junkie whore. But they were the only thing that kept her from screaming and clawing at the walls. She threw the bottle in the trash.

“Sergei!” she yelled at the top of her lungs, frustrated. She knew he was somewhere nearby. He always was.

He appeared behind her. She made eye contact in the vanity mirror. “Could you get me a bottle of red wine?”

“Of course, madame,” he said, and disappeared again. She put cold cream on her face, thick, white, and flower scented, and stuck her tongue out. She looked like a greasy raccoon, nothing more, nothing less. For a split second, she wished she could walk around like that. No one would harass her, hit on her, or tug at her with their needy, grasping hands. She’d just be the crazy cream lady. She rolled her eyes and wiped it off with a tissue, revealing clean, glowing skin. She unzipped her dress down to the waist and pulled her arms out of the long sleeves.

They were criss crossed with vicious lumps and bruises. She gently pressed into a particularly ugly one on her shoulder-

“Jesus!” Ieva looked at her back with horror.

Clara pulled her dress up to cover her breasts. “What are you doing?!”

She held up the bottle of wine. In her other hand, there was a corkscrew and a glass.

“Sergei told me to bring this to you - I was in the kitchen eating leftovers.” She stared at her. “Are those, um, recreational?”

“They’re none of your business,” Clara said. She put the dress back on and took the bottle and glass from her.

“They’re not fresh. They look about three, four days old. You need arnica.”

She stopped pouring wine. “I do. I asked for some, but apparently they don’t have any here.”

Ieva rolled her eyes. “People swear by apothecary here. That’s bullshit.”

Then Frank lied, she thought. It didn’t surprise her.

“I have some pretty good ointment I can give you. I don’t box as much anymore, but for some reason, I still carry it around. Just in case,” she said, shrugging.

She looked at her full glass of wine. If she didn’t use something stronger than ibuprofen for the swelling, she might scar.

“Okay, if you don’t mind. I’ll pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m rich now, remember?” She walked out.

Clara took the dress off carefully and hung it in the closet with the others, then put on a beautiful mint silk robe with a black satin trim. It was a gift from Frank after the plastic surgeries, cut especially to drape her improved curves. She looked in the mirror again. She was no temptress. The color washed her out, made her look gray. He only saw what he wanted to see, not what was. She had broken herself to pieces to fit into that image. But she was strong. She still had the hope she could pick them up again once the dust had settled.

Ieva knocked on the closet door. She held up a white jar. “Here it is.”

She took it and opened it to smell. “Ooh, this is good stuff. Pretty potent.”

“My sparring partners punched hard,” she said, stuffing her hands in her pockets.

“I thought you had a thing about touching,” Clara said, walking back into the bedroom.

“Punching isn’t touching,” she said.

“Very true,” Clara said. “And thanks. I’ll give it back to you tomorrow.”

Ieva gave her an inscrutable look. “You keep it. I’m gonna go back to work. “Gute nacht.”

“Good night,” Clara said, already turning back to her wine.

She walked into the hallway. “Janina!”

She ran to her from the kitchen. “Come here, pet. I need your help with this cream.”

The girl gave her a dazzling grin. She loved serving Clara.

* * *

  **One Week Later**

 

Hardy scowled as he dragged her suitcase behind him through the train station. Finn and Daisy walked in front of him, laughing and clinging to each other. He observed them. Daisy seemed to be the one walking half a step ahead of the physically smaller Finn, surveying the busy Saturday crowd, ready to deflect a thoughtless traveler from bumping into her. Although he was still getting used to the idea that there would be no awkward future dinners with a string of potential son-in-laws, he was proud of Daisy. She was self-possessed. Kind. Thoughtful.

What’s the female version of being a gentleman, then?

Daisy was a lady, already.

“Here we are, dad,” Daisy said, gently guiding Finn in front of her. “Now, we wait.”

Tess sighed beside them, then gave Daisy another hug. She smoothed her wild blonde hair back from her face.

“So you’re absolutely sure you want to do this, darling? Like your father said, there are plenty of people needin’ charity here.”

Daisy nodded. “It’s a huge opportunity, mam.”

“But we’ll _miss_ you. And your father needs you.”

Hardy turned to look at them, his brow furrowed. “I’m a grown man.”

“Dad’ll be fine. And I’ve got to try.”

“Right,” Tess said, and gave Finn a wry look. Daisy whispered something in her ear to distract from her mother’s eyes.

“I’ll phone you. And text. And send lots of snaps,” Daisy joked.

Tess hugged her. “It’s not the same.”

“Oh, go on. You used to complain all the time that all you saw were my Facebook posts. Just pretend I’m in the next room.” She tugged gently on her mother’s ponytail. “Wish me luck.”

Hardy and Tess stood in front of her, blocking out the view of the tracks.

“We wish you the best of luck, sweetheart,” Hardy said, taking her hand.

“We love you. You’re clever as they come, and you’ll be brilliant,” Tess added. Daisy’s eyes shone with tears. Tess had not spoken to her like that in what seemed like ages. Perhaps a bit of distance would mend their tense relationship. She brought her cellphone up and took a quick snap of them standing together, their eyes filled with love, then put the phone back in her pocket.

The train rolled in, and the travelers crowded to the platform. Daisy pulled them both in for a tight hug. Tess wasn’t a much of a hugger, but Hardy held her close, then kissed her cheek.

“Dad.”

He looked at her.

“You’ll be okay?”

“Of course,” he said, patting her back.

“Promise you’ll come and see me. Later, when it’s warm.”

He shrugged.

She held on to his wrist. “Promise me.” She was suddenly very grave. Very adult.

“Yes, Daiz. I’ll go and see you. I’ll make a whole holiday out of it, complete with a straw hat and Hawaiian shirts.”

“It’s North Carolina, not Hawaii, but I’d pay to see that,” she said, giving him one last squeeze. “You’ve been so strong. I love you, dad.”

She grabbed the wheelie suitcase from his side and ran into the train, giving them both one last wave, and blowing them a kiss.

As the train doors closed, Hardy wiped a tear from his cheek.

* * *

Daisy and Finn put up their bags and sat down in their assigned seats.

Daisy looked around to see that no one was looking, and stole a kiss from Finn.

“You ready?” she said, taking her hand.

“So ready,” Finn said. “I don’t think I could’ve done this without you.”

Daisy laughed. “It was your idea.”

“But I suppose I wouldn’t have giving a shit about it if I didn’t imagine doing this with you. You make it worth it. Remember, I want to major in advertising.”

“So you don’t care about charity?”

The train hummed as it sped up on the track.

“Do you want me to be honest, or PC?” Finn said. Her brown eyes danced.

God, Daisy wanted to kiss her. “Honest, of course.”

Finn put her lips to Daisy’s ear. “I could give two shits about charity. I just care about you.” She pulled Daisy’s hand down to her lap, where she was hot.

“Watch yourself,” Daisy said. “We’ve got a holiday crowd about.”

“I’ve gotta wee,” Finn said out of the blue.

“Okay,” Daisy said, and moved to let her through to the aisle. Finn gave her a pointed look, then walked away. Daisy pulled the phone from her pocket and the photo she’d just taken of Alec and Tess came up.

The winter sun shone through the gap between them, but they had never looked more together. She smiled. Although she accepted they were no longer in love, the love they had for her was apparent, and beautiful.

King and queen, she thought, giving the screen a kiss. The phone startled her as it buzzed against her lips.

**Are you coming, or not? Because I am. The last loo in the carriage, to the left.**

Finn.

She ran.

* * *

Hardy and Tess watched the train disappear quickly into tangle of tracks and cables.

“Have you had anything to eat today?” Tess said, not looking at him.

“No.” Hardy said.

“Come and have a cuppa with me at the cafe.”

“I’m not hungry,” he said, squinting into his phone. There were no calls or messages. “And I have to get to work.”

“Then you can watch me eat. I need to talk to you,” she said, walking in front of him. They sat down at the restaurant. She ordered a full English. He got some coffee.

“Something’s off, Hardy,” she said without preamble. Her hazel eyes had the steely look they got when she spoke of work.

“What is it?”

“After...everything, I was doing some additional research on Frank Lazone. Since Interpol and the FBI got involved, obviously it was an extracurricular kind of thing-”

“-They clearly said to leave it alone,” he said. He took a sip of black coffee and winced. The coffee was fine. His heart ached, though. “In fact, I have the distinct memory of you telling me to do so six months back.”

“And I meant it then. Everyone involved was running scared. I thought it was silly.” She waited as the waitress put the huge plate of food in front of her. ”I can’t quite pinpoint it - I haven’t seen any black vans in the alley-”

She cut into a runny egg. Hardy turned away, suddenly nauseated. He despised runny egg yolks. She knew it. She shoved it into her mouth and chewed quickly.

“What are you trying to say, Tess?”

She swallowed. “I don’t know whether it’s because it’s the first time in 18 years I’ve lived alone, but I feel like-” she leaned forward “-I feel like someone’s watching me.”

His eyebrow rose. Tess was not a timorous woman. But she was worried. New lines radiated from the corners of her eyes.

“And you’ve swept the house?”

“Thoroughly. There’s nothing there - at least, nothing that we can detect. We’re not the goddamned FBI, though.”

“What about your research?”

“I haven’t been able to get anything that makes sense. Just when I think I might have something, it leads to a dead end. How does that happen on the internet? Dead ends? It’s like I’m being trolled.” Her voice was hushed.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before? Have you told Zed?”

“He’s the one who helped me do the sweep. But still. I can’t quite shake the sensation.” She cut into some bacon. “You doing okay?”

He shrugged. “I’m fine. I’ll miss Daisy.”

“Me too. But I mean, you’re gonna be alone now, in that place-”

“-Don’t start, Tess. I’m not having it today.”

She pushed her food aside. “It’s not healthy. You should find somewhere else to live. A place with no ghosts. For Chrissakes, you haven’t even changed her furniture!”

He stood up and shook out his rumpled coat. “I have to go.” He was halfway to the door, but he turned around and walked back to the table. He put his finger on the worn wood. “If you still feel unsafe, call me. I’ll help you look ‘round the house again.”

He walked out without looking back.


	3. Act Five, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hardy is distraught now that he is completely alone again, and bittersweet memories from his childhood make it no easier to adjust. Ieva is slowly being bowed down by the extra responsibilities Frank is giving her. Clara sees something that shakes her to her core.

He really did have to be at work, but he drove home instead.

He put his key in the lock and pushed the door open. His steps echoed hollowly as he walked to the kitchen, where her windowboxes had violets and herbs that grew in wild clumps. He didn’t use the herbs, but he didn't allowed Daisy to get rid of them.

He poured himself a glass of water to wash out the muddy taste of coffee from his mouth. The violets were anemic in the winter sun, growing close to the soil. He stuck his finger in the loam, then gently poured water over it. Drops stuck to the petals, reflecting the sun. Pain screamed in his skull, but he willed himself to remain calm. How many tears could he cry? Every time he did, his chest felt hollow, like they were unfounded. It made no sense to him.

She loved him. It was real. He felt it. He still felt her, albeit far away. And he wanted to cherish that echo until it disappeared.

He plucked a thin chive stem and bit into it as he walked into Daisy’s bedroom. Her closet was half empty, but well-organized. She still had some primary school blue ribbons on the wall, along with smiling polaroids of her and her friends. He plucked one from her mirror. It was of him, sitting on the sofa with his hands over his stomach and legs stretched out, dead to the world. There was a hand-written caption.

 **Dad the detective, hard-y at work!**  It was an old photo, before he and Tess divorced. He squinted at the image.

His face was bare, the angles not quite so sharp. His hair was still completely brown. He still believed that justice would prevail, and despite the ugliness he saw, there was still a heart of warmth in the world.

What a fool. He put the photo down on her dresser and closed the door behind him.

Clara is dead. Daisy is grown, and gone, and despite his good deeds, he was alone.

“Fa, you were right,” he said out loud.

What a horrific bastard. But he was right. He walked out of the apartment, already dreading the silence when he returned.

* * *

Frank walked into her lab without knocking. She would usually throw something at anyone who did that, but it was his house.

“How’s the setup going?” he asked, sitting down on her work table. He looked over his shoulder at the screens, but it was just incomprehensible script.

She typed quickly, and something came up on one of the screens. It was a living room of a small apartment. It wasn’t yet furnished, and marked boxes were piled high all over the floor.

Frank rubbed his flat belly. “Oh, she’s a good one. Found her turning tricks in Archangel, of all places. Ha! She looks Russian, but she’s as American as cherry pie. It seems it’s what he likes,” he said. “And I wanna give him what he likes.”

Ieva’s face remained illegible.

Frank eyed her intensely. “You think I’m an asshole?”

She shrugged. “It’s not for me to say. I work for you.”

He stood and walked around, picking up her dolls. “But still. Do you think me a monster?”

She actually gave him an irritated look. “I don’t give a shit what you are, man, just as long as the checks clear.”

He came up behind her and put his chin on her shoulder. “You know, you’re a really pretty girl.”

She shook him off. “No I’m not. And I’m not a girl.”

“What are you, then, And ‘it’? A ‘they’? I know that’s all the rage in certain circles.” His breath was smoky with whiskey. Her stomach turned.

“I’m a woman.” She stood and walked across the room, where she hung a punching bag. She resisted the urge to wipe his condensed breath from her cheek and gave it some hard, quick punches.

He looked her up and down. “There are people who would pay very good money for a woman like you,” he said.

“Oh?” she said. She punched hard, and there was a sharp pain in her wrist. Her hands were not wrapped. “I work for you, but I made it clear that it would never be in that way. Also, I don’t like dick.” The contempt in her voice was hard to hide.

“That doesn’t matter. Plenty of very rich woman would pay to lick the blood and sweat from your body after you fight.”

Bile burned her throat.

“Anyway, I saw that you helped Birdie with her little booboos while I was gone,” His smile grew hard.

So he _did_ have surveillance in the house. “She asked, so I gave her a bit of ointment I had laying around.”

He walked up to her, his hands in the pockets of his bespoke suit pants. “Have I made it clear that she’s mine?”

She stilled the punching bag. “Yes, of course. She told me as well.”

“ _My_ property. To use and dispose of any way I see fit,” he said, pouting dramatically. “So next time, concentrate less on being a pal and more on doing your fucking job.” His voice rose to a growl. “And don’t get attached. It will inevitably lead to heartache. And death, if I find out.”

Ieva nodded. Frank’s body language changed to affability again.

“Anyway, what about the other setups? Everything running smoothly?”

She walked to the work desk and typed something else. Three different feeds popped up. A kitchen with a vase of silk hydrangeas on the table appeared on the screen. The place was empty.

The other two feeds were of an apartment. A bedroom, empty, with the bed made. Also, a living room. A man crossed the room, the hem of his trench coat billowing behind him.

Frank’s jaw tightened, but his smile stayed on.

“Good. Looks like there’s no deterioration. Your predecessor did a good job, but your suggested upgrades were a real life saver.”

She nodded. “Henchard has scary instincts. It’s good your plant suggested the changes when he did, or her search would’ve yielded some interesting results.”

Frank bounced. “I’m fascinated with what an endless supply of money will buy. Technology blows my mind,” he said, patting her shoulder. His hand remained there, painfully heavy. He patted one more time and started walking to the door.

“This is a great start. I know that this doesn’t fall under the original work agreement, but you’re really doing me a solid.”

Her skin crawled. “You pay, I do. That’s the deal.”

He gave her a crooked grin. “I like you. You’re amoral. People like that are rare. You stay in your lane, and you and I are gonna get along just fine,” he said.

* * *

As he walked to his car, Hardy didn’t know whether to be grateful or bored. There was nothing going on in his sleepy town except the odd breaking and entering. The place was less sleepy than Broadchurch, but apparently, the disease had not spread to the towns around it. He drove the long way home. The hospital gleamed in the distance. Once, knowing Clara was there saving lives, it made him feel like they balanced each other out in some existential sense. He dealt with death, she dealt with the preservation of life.

He drove by, and pain made his jaw tighten.

The phone rang.

“Hardy! How are you doing?” Miller didn’t mince words.

“I’m okay. I’m just driving around for a bit. Don’t want to go home yet. Too empty.”

He heard a television in the background. Canned laughter. “With all the noise around here, sometimes I wish for a bit of silence. Just for a day or two.”

Hardy’s pointed silence made her feel instantly guilty.

“I’m already preparing myself mentally for the day when Tom decides to leave the nest. I’ve already cried about it.”

Still, silence. Now her foot was really in her mouth.

“Shit, Hardy. I’m sorry. It’s late and I can’t even think straight.” She giggled, but it was forced.

He turned into the bumpy access road to the beach. “Did I ever tell you about my father?”

Ellie either turned off the television. “No. Never.”

“He was a cunt. Cast-iron. And I hated him. But I’m finding now, years after his death, that some of the shit coming out of his mouth wasn’t exactly shit.”

Ellie didn’t know how to respond. He never spoke of his life before.

“No matter what you do, how pure-hearted your motives, the world is shit and you will end up alone.”

“How many times you gonna say shit in a minute? Dear God. He seems like a pleasant man,” she said. She didn’t like how he sounded.

“My mother’s death didn’t help his point of view.”

Ellie sighed. “We all die. That doesn’t equal abandonment.”

“You’d be surprised,” he said, thinking out loud.

“Hardy, you keep talking like that and I’ll strap Freddie in his car seat and drive to you right now.”

The car bumped its way into a small parking lot, where there was just one car, with the windows steamed up suggestively. It rocked gently on its shocks. He sat, looking toward the rolling darkness of the surf.

“I despise the ocean. Have I said that?”

“You have. A lot,” she said.

“Have I told you why?”

“You haven’t told me many things.”

“I suppose so,” he said. 

“Yes,” he said. “I’m gonna go now. Thanks for the call.” He hung up before she responded, more out of distraction than rudeness. He left his cellphone in the car and walked past the rocking vehicle and to the sand. His footsteps quickened, until he was running to the surf. His heart raced, yet it beat excruciatingly true. He imagined himself slamming into the foaming winter surf, the cold making his extremities numb almost immediately but walking, still, until the sandy bottom disappeared from underneath him.

Be brave. Be brave-

He stopped before his oxfords touched damp sand. He panted, his hands on his knees. His tears were scalding hot on his cold cheeks. The water roared in front of him, eager to take him.

**Oh, Ma.**

He felt like a complete asshole. Daisy was most probably just landing in Atlanta. She promised to call him as soon as she passed customs, and she would worry if he didn’t answer.

Clara is gone.

She is gone. Present tense. Future tense. But Daisy was beautifully alive. Until he could find the strength to live for himself again, he must live for her. His sobs turned to hiccups, and he wiped his tears roughly away with the sleeve of his coat. He stood up straight and started back toward his car, loathing the light salty mist that settled on his skin. A couple of stars glimmered through the orange clouds in the horizon.

* * *

He walked into the apartment building to something slamming into a wall.

A female voice cursed. “Shit, there goes my finger!” The voice had an American accent.

He heard dragging, like someone trying to move heavy furniture. He put his foot on the stairs.

There was a screech, and a meaty thud. “Ouch!”

He reluctantly walked toward the noise. A women bent over a marble topped coffee table, trying to push it into the apartment door.

He cleared his throat. She popped up. His lips parted.

She was golden. Her hair. Her skin. Her amber eyes. She smiled bashfully at him. Her cheeks were red with the effort of pushing. She gave him a quizzical up and down look. He was rumpled, salt-sore and covered in sand.

“You been for a walk in the beach? It’s not quite romantic this time of year,” she said, smiling at him. “You live here?”

He nodded. “Two floors up. 12B.”

She extended her hand. “Atia. I know it’s weird, but my parents were history buffs.”

“It’s different, not weird,” he said, surprising himself by speaking more than one word.

“It’s a shortened version of my name, though. You should hear the whole thing.”

They stared at each other. Her sculpted brows hovered a bit higher on her forehead. She waited.

“Oh. My name is Alec. Hardy.” He brushed the sand from his pants and stomped his feet. She wrinkled her nose, but smiled.

“I’ll have to tackle that with a broom after I’m done with this.”

He flushed. “I’m so sorry! If you’ve got one handy I can clean it off myself-”

“One thing at a time, Mr. Hardy. First, there’s this table in the way.” She kicked it. “The movers not only forgot it in their first go, but once they brought it to me - after me giving them a piece of my mind over the phone - they just left it in the hallway, claiming they had ‘another job’ they needed to get to,’ she said, running her fingers through her silky hair. “Who moves after 10 PM?”

“You do, apparently,” he said, gaining slow control of his faculties. “Do you need a hand?”

“Could you?” she said. “I’ll take the awkward side.” She bent over the table, willing to walk backwards into her apartment. He picked it up and they moved slowly through her door and into her living room, which was piled high with boxes. “You can set it here, for now.”

They stood awkwardly for a couple of seconds. “Place looks a lot like mine,” he said, when he couldn’t think of anything else.

She smiled and panicked as she felt something on her face. He stopped forward quickly, and tipped her face up to his.

“It’s a bit of tape,” he said, and picked it off gently. She studied him as he did it him. He held his finger up. “See? Not a creepy crawly.”

She smiled. “I like your accent. Crreeepy crrrawly. Like James Bond.”

“After so many years in England, it’s nearly gone,” he said.

“Then you should work to keep it. I’m sure your wife loves it.”

His faint smile disappeared. She noticed.

“I’m not married. Anymore.”

“Ahhh. I’m sorry,” she said, hedging her bets. “Thanks for saving me from that evil sliver of tape, and the table. Can I offer you a cuppa in the way of thanks? You won’t have to wait long. I’ve already unpacked my kettle.” She was beautiful. But he was burnt out.

“Thank you, but no. I’ve got to be getting on. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”

“I know all about those in my line of work,” she said, but she looked sad.

“What do you do?” Again, he surprised himself by caring.

“I bake delicious breads and cakes.”

“A baker?”

“A pastry chef. Just to let you know, I’ll be giving away a lot of tasty treats after I get settled. I’m proud to say I’ve kept my neighbors in luxury carbohydrates for the last 12 years both here and in the States. They either love me or hate me. Or both.” She laughed. Her two front teeth were slightly longer, giving her a youthful look. She was lovely.

“I, uh, look forward to it. I’m a detective, so I might not be around-”

Her eyes widened. “You’re a detective? Wow! That must be interesting.”

“Not always. But it’s always hard.”

“But you’re brave,” she said, taking a step toward him. Despite her beauty, he shrunk back.

“I try,” he said, and walked to the door. He sighed and opened it, not looking back.

“Goodnight, detective,” she said. “And thanks.”

He nodded and left.

* * *

Clara walked into Ieva’s  workroom, and nearly dropped the tray she was holding.

“Oh my God.” It banged onto the side table, clinking musically.

Ieva popped up and grabbed it from her nervously. “What are you doing? Don’t you have help for this?”

She looked dazed. “I was in the kitchen making myself a pre-soiree snack and Sergei asked me to bring it up since everyone else is getting ready for the costume ball. I also wanted to say thanks for the ointment. The bruises faded without scarring.” She walked to the screens slowly, hugging herself. Her hair and makeup was already done. Diamonds glimmered in her dark hair and her cheeks, carefully glued in swirling patterns that went down her neck and disappeared beneath her robe. They looked real.

“I swear I saw him.”

Ieva dipped her brioche in a cup of hot chocolate. “What are you talking about?”

Clara walked closer to the screens, looking up at them. She actually touched one, caressing the flat blackness with an emotion that made Ieva sweat.

“I must be going crazy. He was-” She turned to Ieva. “Were you watching TV when I came in?”

“Yeah, a little,” she said through a mouthful of bread.

“What were you watching? Show me.” Her body language changed. It was not a suggestion.

Ieva swiped her workpad, and an episode of Friends dubbed in German came on. There was canned laughter, and Joey mugged for the camera.

“Okay. Friends,” she said. She looked crestfallen.

“It’s a good show,” Ieva said, biting into a sliver of cheese.

“Yeah,” she said. “I don’t watch much tv,” Clara said. She looked down at her hand. A tear slid slowly down her face, making the diamonds really shine.

“You okay?” Ieva said. She did not get up from her dinner.

Clara smiled at her. “I’m just being silly. It’s what I get for starting on the champagne early,” she said. “Will you be joining us later tonight?”

“I don’t think so, but have fun,” she said, sitting on her favorite chair and putting up her feet.

“Always,” Clara said.

* * *

Janina waited to finish dressing her.

“You’ve smudged your makeup,” she said, gently wiping her eye with a napkin.

“But you’re here to fix it,” Clara said, giving her wrist a squeeze. Janina’s body language changed. She stepped forward, willing Clara to caress her. Clara kissed her temple. “I’ve got to be ready to dazzle in 20 minutes, honey. Where’s my outfit?”

Jan picked up a jeweled, embroidered bit of sheer gauze from the bed and brought it to her. Clara took off her robe and stood naked as the girl worked the stretchy fabric over her curves. It was made so that the glossy pale blue thread swirled between her legs and up her sides, seemingly over naked skin. The front of the garment stopped directly underneath her breasts, although it had long sleeves. Jan painted pearly fireworks in different shades of blue on Clara’s breasts, and her nipples were encrusted with diamond and sapphire chips. The gauze itself was woven with silver thread.

Clara shone in front of her three way mirror. Jan was on her knees, smoothing the fabric over her thighs.

“You look like the goddess of winter,” she said.

Jan had a crown of autumn leaves and flowers in her hair. “And you look like Persephone,” Clara said, stroking her fiery hair. Her blue eyes were adoring. She held her shoes as Clara slid into them, then buckled the thin straps. Frank walked into the room. He wore a blue suit to match her.

“I’m finished, baby,” she said, walked seductively to him.

He ran his fingers through his hair and smiled. “Lord. You always manage to go a bit further than I could imagine,” he said. “You look good enough to eat.”

“You’ll get frostbite,” she said, actually slapping his hand when he reached out to touch her.

He growled and pulled her to him. “Then I’ll warm you first.” He kissed her, ruining her carefully painted glittery blue lips. “I will have you. Before the party is through. Whether it’s for an audience or not, I don’t know yet.”

She smiled at him. “I love surprises.”

“Good,” he said, and pushed her toward Jan. “Fix her mouth. Guests are arriving.”

She sat down at the vanity and stared at her reflection as Jan wiped her face and redid the bottom part of it.

Could it be?

Her thoughts buzzed feverishly behind her calm expression. It looked just like him. Even the wrinkled trench. She closed her eyes as Jan directed her to part her lips. And there was a woman. Just a flash, but the long hair was hard to miss. Golden. Beautiful. And he had been touching her face-

Her chest contracted in a hiccup. Her eyes burned.

“Are you okay, mistress?”

She opened her eyes and smiled. “It’s the champagne. It gives me the hiccups when I haven’t eaten.” She hiccuped dramatically and winked at her.

“Okay. All done.” She stood behind Clara as she gave herself a last look in the mirror.

It had to be her imagination. Why would she see him here, of all places? She needed to stop mixing pills and liquor. It was making her hallucinate.

* * *

Frank burst into Ieva’s room, his face red.

“What did she see?” he roared. She quickly pulled on her robe, since she’d just stepped out of the shower.

“You’ve got to consider getting locks for this place,” she said, too angry to care.

He got in her face. “ _What did she see?_ ”

“Nothing. I’ve made it so if anyone steps into the room, it switches to something else. She saw Friends.”

He paced the room. “If she finds out, she’ll try to contact him, and I’ll have to kill him. If she finds out he’s dead, she’ll run, and I’ll have to chase her down again. And that’s really inconvenient.”

“Then don’t tell her.”

He gave her an irritated look and walked around her. “Do you think Birdie is beautiful?”

Ieva’s face reddened slowly. He smiled and nodded.

“I’ve loved her even since she was 12 years old. And she’s never been just a pretty face. That’s why she’s in this house, instead of eating shit in a brothel in Southeast DC. Pretty don’t mean dick. This does,” he said, jabbing at his temple, “and she’s got it in spades.”

 _If she’s so smart, why would she get with a dude like you_ , Ieva thought. It’s as if she’d said it aloud.

“You must be wondering why she, a beautiful woman and an accomplished thoracic surgeon, should end up with a man like me…”

_She’s a doctor?_

“It’s a mix of luck and brains. I got to her soon enough to get into her head, and now she needs me. It’s as simple as that. It’s like…raising a tiger from when it was a little cub. Sure, it bites, but it won’t bite me,” he said. “Much.”

Ieva thought of the horrible bruises on Clara’s body. Why had she taken such a beating?

“I can push her, but only so far. If I get too crazy, she’ll run. And it’s a bitch to find her. So this time around, I’m taking some precautions.”

“That’s why we’re in the middle of nowhere,” Ieva said.

“Exactly,” he said. ”She needs some time to adjust to our new and improved circumstances. When our little venture is up and running and the money starts rolling in, she won’t want to go anywhere. But until then, I’ve got to be careful. I can only beat a smart woman to submission so much before the blood eventually returns to her brain.”

Ieva sat down on the bed. “But why even bother?”

He looked out her window into the night. “What do you mean?”

“Your business is beautiful woman. Why do you care so much about her?”

He turned to look at her, and his usually smarmy face was actually human. He could pass for kind, if she didn’t know he was a monster. “Because I love her.”

“And she loves you,” she said. She didn’t know why. Perhaps, it was true.

He tugged on his lapels and straightened up, turning back to her. The bitch was back. “She’d better, ‘cause she’s stuck with me for life,” he said. He walked by her, then backtracked, getting in her face. “Keep it together. I don’t want to have to do something rash.”

His breath smelled of expensive tobacco.

She nodded. “Yes. I will be more careful.”


	4. Act Five, Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite Frank's omnipresence, Clara can't help but think back on more beautiful times with Hardy. After Frank tasks her with keeping a close eye on Hardy, Ieva starts to wonder about Clara's real reason for coming back.

The party was a success.

The greenhouse crawled with attractive costumed people. The champagne flowed and libidos were up. Frank kept her close, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist. A couple walked by them, dressed as an iconic comic book couple.

“Look, it’s Catwoman!” she said, breaking from his grip.

“You did an amazing job,” she said, looking at the masked woman’s latexed body. 

“Thank you, mistress,” she said, nearly bowing.

“Don’t be silly! Do a twirl - I want to see the back,” she said, pulling her back up.

The woman arched and turned, giving her a choice view.

“Ahh. Gorgeous,” she said. She cupped her hand on her ass, and giggled as the latex squeaked. “Fun.”

“Would you like them to join us?” Frank said, feeling particularly magnanimous.

“It’s okay. I was just admiring her costume,” she said, putting her hands on woman’s patent leather corseted waist. “It brings back memories.”

He nodded at them and they walked away, hand in hand.

“Memories?” he asked as he guided her back to their roped-off VIP area. “I don’t remember you ever dressing as Catwoman in one of our scenes.”

She lay in the pillows and drank her champagne. “It wasn’t a scene.[ Just a silly halloween thing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11315241). It was ages ago.”

He nodded slowly. It must’ve been when they were apart. He felt a hot, intense stab of jealousy. Most miserably, his cock stood straight up in his trousers because of it.

“Who did you wear it for?” he said, tracing the silver swirls up her thighs.

“I didn’t wear it for anyone in particular. It was for a halloween party,” she said. There was an unusual edge of irritation in her voice. He knew her too well. She was lying. His hand moved up her body and tangled in her hair. She sighed happily, then squealed as it turned into a fist.

“Get up.”

She rose, getting up on tip toe to ease the pain. It felt as if he might snatch her scalp right off her skull. A few people looked in their direction, then looked away again. Anyone who knew Frank knew about his temper. He walked quickly out of the greenhouse and up the stairs to their bedroom.

He threw her on the bed, panting like a beast. He pulled off his belt, a stiff black leather thing with a brass buckle.

“Who was it?” He swung the belt at her ass, expertly snapping back his wrist so the tip bit into her flesh.

“No one, honey, I promise!” she said, terrified by his sudden viciousness.

“Tell me!” he said, falling on her in a frenzy. The belt welted her thighs and back. She felt white hot pain as she held her hand up to protect her face, and it bent her pinkie finger nearly back to her hand.

“It’s only been you, baby. Ever since the beginning,” she said, writhing on the bed to avoid his blows, but he was quick. “Please. There’s people downstairs waiting on us.” The leather burned on her arms. Jewels flew as he got her right across her breasts.

“You’re _mine_ ,” he said, his voice hoarse with passion. He threw the belt and ripped up the tissue thin fabric of her costume, exposing her. His face was sweaty and red, but she noticed his eyes were watery as well. Frank, crying? “All mine,” he said, kissing the welted flesh of her belly and hugging her tightly. He trembled with emotion.

She caressed his leonine head.”I’m here, baby. I’m not going-” she said, but the words stuck in her throat. He looked up at her, his eyes red with misery. Her eyes watered with the effort. “-I’m not going anywhere.”

“Do you promise?”

She thought back on the flash of gold, and Alec's hands on the woman’s face.

“Yes.”

He straddled her and unzipped his trousers. She sat up to take him in her mouth, but he gently pushed her back down.

“Let me.” He ripped the costume completely from her body and caressed his lips against every place where the belt had bitten her, kissing it better. She spread her legs, guiding his mouth between them.

“I didn’t get you here,” he said. He smiled, because she was wet to the thighs. God, he loved his Birdie.

“Still. It aches, baby,” she said, pouting.

“You want me to kiss it better?” he said. He lived for her calling him baby in that tone.

“Uhuh,” she said, nodding.

He kissed her there, sucking at her wetness. She shivered and pressed his head into her. He parted her lips with his tongue, and they moaned together when je brushed her swollen clit. Her head fell back, and she tried to concentrate on his tongue and not her fiercely stinging skin.

Catwoman, she thought, and smiled. He hummed into her, flicking her tongue in her opening.

She got a sudden, intensely vivid image of Alec with his head between her legs, his prickly chin tickling her thighs as his tongue danced between her folds. She snapped into an arch and groaned loud and long. Frank doubled his efforts, delighted as she filled his mouth with wetness. She loved the way Alec looked at her when he thought she wouldn’t notice, his brow furrowed with adoration. Had she told him enough, before the fall, that she loved him?

She bucked into Frank’s mouth, but she had a lump in her throat. She left him without saying goodbye. She’d called him weak. And Frank had made her stage her own death. It was the only truth he knew.

And it was a lie.

“I love you,” she whispered, rolling her hips into his mouth. He looked up at her and she smiled. She wanted so much to see Alec’s glimmering brown eyes staring back up at her, but instead, it was Frank’s jade green.

He moved up her body and slid into her, pressing his lips against her forehead. “I love you too, honey,” he said. She gasped and put her hands on his back, softly scratching her nails down to his ass. She hissed as he went too deep, too fast.

“Be gentle. I’m still sore from before.” He had her roughly a couple nights ago. Then, she took his onslaught with patience. He took her in his arms and kissed her bejeweled cheeks. She was his girl. She loved him, enough to come back without his putting a gun to her head again. She would stay this time, he felt it.

Now, he would be kind.

He moved inside her slowly. She sighed beneath him, and her thighs squeezed tighter around his hips. She ran her fingertips up his spine and squeezed the back of his neck.

“Kiss me,” she said.

He put his lips over hers, trying to lead, but she slid her tongue in his mouth, wrapping herself around him. She was suddenly and completely on fire. He got on his back and pulled her onto him and she rode him hard, bouncing on his cock. He felt her pussy opening up to him, coating his cock with wetness.

“That’s my girl,” he said breathlessly. She hadn’t fucked him like that in years. It’s as if he had his teenage goddess back for a night. No other pussy, no matter how young or how tight, had been able to replace her.  “Ride that dick,” he said. It was so good he got his Texas accent back.

She smiled and ground little circles on him, making his toes curl, then bounced high on his cock again. He liked to see how he stretched her opening, and how pink and swollen he made her. For months, she’d been pretending. Most of her orgasms, and every moan and sigh. But one thought of Alec, however excruciating, made her feel alive again. She lifted her leg and turned to ride him reverse cowgirl style. She didn’t want him to see her face.

She leaned forward and fucked him fast, her eyes closed tight.

Alec’s hands trembled on her hips, his moans soft. More like exhaled breath, but just a maddening to her. She smiled down at him and kissed his parted lips. I love you, he said, his eyes earnest. Always so beautifully earnest.

“I love you,” she said out loud.

“Slow down, baby,” he said, holding her hips. He looked between her legs. She made him creamy with her arousal, and his pubic hair was wet and flat against his belly. She was glorious. He got on his knees on the bed and leaned forward, his cock still inside her. She tried to get on her hands and knees, but he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close.

“No, baby girl. I wanna hold you,” he said. 

She was deliciously tight in this position, and it took all his willpower not to jackhammer her into the mattress. But it was worth it. She rolled her hips into him, her mouth slack with pleasure. Her brow furrowed with concentration.

She didn’t know how, but Alec’s sweat was narcotic. She licked the damp hollow between his clavicles. Her tongue danced on the silvery scar left by the pacemaker surgery. He guided her back to his neck, where he was deliciously sensitive. He arched - oh the sweet glory of it - underneath her, lifting her off the bed. His skin below where his beard grew was taut and smooth. She bit softly, and he groaned, swelling harder against her belly.

She moaned loudly, pulling Frank’s hair.

Frank's hand moved between her legs to rub her clit as he fucked her. He whimpered when he touched her. She was soaking. He looked at her face, and her eyes were closed. Jewels glimmered in the sweat of her brow, and her honey hair was darker with it. He bent lower and plowed into her, no longer able to resist. Her hands were fists on the sheet, and her head snapped with each thrust. But she smiled.

Oh, Gracie, Alec said, his fingers scratching gently at her scalp as her tongue moved over the silky skin of his shaft. She traced his throbbing veins, giggling as he let out a hiccuping sigh. Is it good? she asked, then licked the crown of his cock, feeling it twitch on her tongue. He whimpered harder as she wrapped her lips around him and swirled her tongue on his precum-salty flesh. He said her name again, but hoarser. She was dripping. She loved that name on his lips.

“Say my name,” she said out loud. She was almost there. Just a couple more deep, hip-shaking thrusts and she’d come hard for the first time in forever.

You’re being a bossy bitch tonight,” he said, but he was all about it.

“Say it,” she said, tugging at his hair again.

“Clara,” he said, and sucked the unpainted flesh of her neck. Her pumping became erratic, and he took it as a very good sign.

“My sweet baby girl Clara,” he said into her hair, and she hiccuped against him, trembling and tightening around his cock.“That’s it.” Her flat belly twitched against his forearm, and her pleasure nudged him to orgasm. He let her go and dug his fingers into her hips, bucking and groaning. She grabbed his wrists, but he didn’t notice that she was quiet underneath him.

He withdrew and looked at his shirt. It was stained with paint and glitter. He kissed her back between her shoulder blades and rolled out of bed.

“Don’t worry about the party. I’ll make your excuses.” He took off the shirt and put on a fresh one. He was bouncy with fulfillment. She felt like his girl again. Maybe he wouldn’t have to be so forceful anymore. She was still lying on her stomach on the bed.  “I’ll tell Janina to come up and change the sheets. They're filthy.”

She lay with her face half covered by the duvet. “Thanks, honey. I’m going to take a hot bath and remove all this crap,” she said. Her voice was muffled.

He leaned over to kiss her temple. “You were amazing tonight. Keep it up, and maybe we can leave this shit hole,” he said, and walked out of the room. She waited a minute or two after he’d disappeared to roll out of bed. She walked to the vanity to remove the jewels still in her hair. They clicked on the counter. Her face was flushed, but impassive. Her makeup was streaked. She pulled off her false eyelashes and put them away with trembling hands.

She walked to the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bathtub and turned the water on. She looked into the steaming, turbid water and willed herself to remain quiet. The scent of jasmine filled the bathroom as she poured bath oil into the water.

The scent set off her memories, and she sniffed. Her knuckle was white on the edge of the tub, but she waited patiently until it was full enough.

Her lower lip wobbled as she stepped into the steaming water, and she lay down calmly and dropped her head deep beneath the surface of the water, where she wept, passionately, for the love she had finally lost.

* * *

 Ieva sat on the bed for what seemed like ages, her eyes glazed over with thought.

_Frank loves Clara._

He loves her, but he beats her mercilessly whenever the whim strikes him. He treats her like an expensive cut of meat.

_Clara is a doctor. A surgeon, for Chrissakes!_

She raked her fingers through her shower-damp hair. No matter how far away she went, she was cursed to fall into the same nightmare. She lay back and her robe opened. Her fingers moved slowly along the emotional braille left on her skin from years of anger. She cut for years as a teenager, despite being beaten for ‘ruining the product’. Her pimp didn’t want her scabby for the johns, but it just made her do more damage. She hoped against hope that he would just kick her out of the home, but he persisted in trying to break her. By the time she was 16, he had almost succeeded ... except for one thing. She discovered she had a knack for code. And for a while, it set her free. But, 15 years later, here she was - right back where she fucking started.

She lifted her arm high and studied the Yuki tattoo.

Something just didn’t sit right with her. If Clara had succeeded in getting away before, why did she come back willingly? Why did she put up being stuck in the middle of nowhere, where she was beaten and constantly watched?

Clara. A brilliant, warm woman.

She pulled on a pair of boxer briefs and a wifebeater and went into her workroom. She was curious. Who was this dude Hardy, and why did Frank care so much what the fuck he was into? After all, she left him willingly. She let Frank cut her up for his personal gratification. She typed something quickly, and his two cameras came up. Although it was almost morning here, he was just getting ready for bed. He paced the bedroom, then disappeared.

So this is the man that Clara loved? she thought. The man she _loves_ , she corrected herself. She saw her reaction when she thought she saw him. It was like she was hit by a bolt of lightning. She watched him for a while, but her growing interest in Clara made her look at him with new eyes.

He reappeared in the living room cam, with a large book tucked underneath his arm. He sat down on the sofa and opened it on the coffee table. It was a photo album. He leaned down for a better look at the photos. He sighed, pressing his fingers on the surface of the album, as if the images themselves still held warmth. He flipped through the pages slowly, smiling at each memory. A loose polaroid fell to his feet as he turned the page. She couldn’t see what it was, but he stiffened, and his face twitched with emotion. He pressed it to his chest and lay on the sofa and hugged his knees. Soon, his body trembled with sobs.

Her fist hit the keyboard and the image was replaced with Phoebe playing her silly songs at Central Perk.

This man, Alec Hardy, was nothing like Frank. It was like comparing a hawk to a starling. But even with her decidedly lesbian eyes, she could see why Clara loved him. Where Frank is fire, blind and razing, Hardy is earth - solid and safe.

She leaned back in her chair and put her feet up on the work table.

Clara had left a man who cried over old photographs to be with Frank, who was convinced he had broken her, but something in the back of her brain whispered otherwise. Before finally getting away from the home, she had seen the eyes of broken women. Almost, even, when she looked in the mirror. But Clara did not have those eyes. Despite the bruises and humiliation, she was not broken.

She was resolute.

Ieva’s heart beat faster. For years, she worked alone, quietly appearing and disappearing from these predator’s lives, leaving nothing but ashes. Was she there for the same purpose?

Could she finally trust someone with her secrets?

* * *

  **One week later**

 

Clara and Janina giggled in the living room, where Jan painted her toe nails an electric blue.

“Come on, pet. Try to get a bit of the nail on the next one,” Clara said, tapping Jan’s nose affectionately.

“I’m sorry. At my other home, I wasn’t usually painting my mistress’ nails,” she said in her heavy accent. She wiggled her eyebrow at Clara.

“You naughty girl,” Clara said, swiping at her. “Focus.” She pointed at her foot. “Frank has a bit of a foot fetish.”

The girl’s smile blinked off for a split second. She didn’t like the way way Frank treated Clara. In fact, she didn't like Frank. At all. Ieva appeared at the threshold wearing boarding gear. She leaned against a shiny new snowboard, the same woman that was tattooed on her arm was painted on it.

“Impressive,” Clara said to her, rubbing Jan’s bowed head.

“There was some good snow last night. I’m curious how the hills out back might feel.”

“Ahhh,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I’m not into any cold-related activities. I hate snow.”

“But it’s magical,” Jan said from the floor.

“Keep painting,” Clara said to her. “But have fun. I don’t think I’ve seen you leave the house since you came.”

Neither have you, Ieva thought, but kept her mouth shut. Sergei emerged from the shadows and nodded curtly at her.

“Lunch is served,” he said.”It’s your favorite, wine-roasted chicken and wild rice.”

“Yay!” Clara jumped up, nearly kicking Jan in the face.

“Hey, you ruined it again,” Jan said, standing up and wiping her blue fingers on a tissue. Clara hugged her and gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek. The girl flushed scarlet and put her arms around her. Jan had it bad. Ieva didn’t blame her.They passed her by on the way to the dining room, then Clara turned to her.

“Come have lunch with us.” She smiled. “It must be boring to be stuck up in that workroom, staring at screens all the time.”

“I’m used to it. And in any case, the code speaks to me,” she said, wiggling her gloved fingers. “Thanks, but no. The snow’s calling.”

“Then, by all means, answer,” she said, and grabbed Jan’s outstretched hand.

* * *

 Ieva walked out into the deep snow, glad that Clara or anyone else in the room didn’t care for winter sports. If they did, they would’ve quickly told her that the snow was way too deep for skiing or boarding.

She cursed the double bright glare of the sun as she trudged near the woods. After the incident with the arnica ointment, she had easily hacked into Frank’s surveillance cams on her personal laptop, so she knew exactly where to go so that the cameras didn’t record her movements. She pushed the snow off a tree stump and sat down, panting lightly from the effort of walking through the two foot deep snow.

This is ridiculous. I’ve got to start working out again, she thought to herself as she wiped a drop of sweat from her forehead. She stared at the mansion.

That place is a fucking black hole.

From a distance, the house was inviting and warm. But she knew better. Clara, and for that matter, she, was a prisoner in its walls.

She spiked the board in a snowbank beside her. She took the butterfly knife from her pocket and stared at it. There was once a time where even looking at a blade made her heart race with anticipation, but mercifully, that time had passed long ago. She flipped her wrist and artfully flipped open the knife.

She smiled. It had been years since she did any tricks with it, but muscle memory was a crazy thing. She stared at the blade, then at her palm. She thought back on the anatomy photo she had looked up, positioning it where it would bleed, but not cut into a major artery or a nerve. The blade, honed razor sharp, glinted in the bright winter sun.

She looked up at the sky. Then back at the house. Then, she stabbed.


	5. Act Five, Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Frank comes home in a catastrophically bad mood, Clara loses hope that she will ever escape him. Hardy is trying his best to move on, and conveniently, there's a pretty downstairs neighbor ready and willing to help him do it.
> 
>    
> Warning: depictions of intense violence

Ieva burst into the house, holding her hand above her head. “Fuckfuckfuck - I cut myself - _shit!_ ” she said loudly, dropping the snowboard.

Clara ran to her, cloth napkin still stuck to her lap.

She looked at the cut. “How did it happen?”

“I was walking through the snow - I didn’t get to use the board - and I tripped on something and fell. I think it was a spade or something.”

She turned to Jan. “Get my special bag - in the closet, shoes, bottom shelf.” The girl ran.

She put pressure on her ulnar artery as she inspected the wound. “You’re right. It looks pretty clean. I don’t have anything to numb this in the bag, so stitching you up is going to _hurt_.” She walked them to the nearest bathroom.

Ieva whistled. “I used to get punched on the regular. I think I’ll be fine.”

“This is a bit different,” she said. Jan came with a robin’s egg blue leather satchel with beautiful gold hardware.

“That’s not what I was expecting when I imagined a doctor’s bag.”

“I heal in style,” she said, winking at her. Ieva’s knees almost went out from under her. It had been a long time she’d seen so much of her own blood. Jan was pale blue with disgust. “You can go, pet. I got this.” The girl staggered away.

“Sergei, please close the door behind you,” she said in an authoritative voice. The man nodded and left. She dug in her bag and ripped open some sterile gauze packs. “Press these on there while I get the stuff ready,” she said. She washed her hands in hot water, scrubbing until her skin was pink, then put on some surgical gloves.

Ieva stared, a half smile on her lips.

Clara shrugged. “I know it’s a bit much for a cut, but force of habit and all that, “ she said, opening a sterile pack of suture thread. Ieva took one look at the needle and looked away.

Maybe she had made a mistake. She was going to stick that thing in her flesh, repeatedly, to close the fucking cut. She took a deep, trembling breath. She poured something that burned like liquid fire on her hand.

“Cunting fucking shitballs of fire!” she said through gritted teeth as Clara cleaned out her wound.

“Breathe, honey. I’m being as gentle as I can,” she said soothingly. “Gladly it’s a clean cut. It’s almost over.” She nodded, but the edges of her vision were going gray. She tried to focus on her task.

“It’s wild. You’re a surgeon.”

Clara’s hand paused, then she kept going. “Yes.”

“Not that you don’t seem smart enough, or anything like that.”

Clara’s face was impassive. She had a month and a half’s worth of dark roots in her golden hair. Her lashes looked preternaturally long against her cheek as she looked down, concentrating on her wound.

“Pretty girl syndrome. Trust me, I’ve suffered all my adult life,” she said. She threw gauze into the trash.

“It has a name?” Ieva said. Sweat beaded her forehead.

“You’re doing really well, by the way,” Clara said, making sure the wound was 100% clean. “For a woman who doesn’t do touching.”

“Needs must, right?” she said.  

Clara picked up the needle. “I am going to work the absolute quickest that I can. You won’t need more than 6 stitches, but each is going to hurt like a bitch.”

Ieva nodded, but she wasn’t sure.

“What made you want to be a surgeon?”

She unwrapped the suture thread and bit her lip. “I always liked helping people. Ever since I was a kid. I used to be the friend who, whenever someone wiped out on their bike and ground their knee to a pulp, I was running to the house for alcohol and bandages. Blood’s never bothered me,” she said. She lay Ieva’s palm flat on her thigh. “It’s time. Just focus on the sound of my voice.”

The needle went in. Bile filled Ieva’s throat.

“I didn’t think anything would come of it. My dad and I were poor, and by that I mean he used to sell weed and pills to get by.”

She breathed quick. “Wow.”

“Yeah, that’s how Frank and I met. He was the one giving them to him.”

Pain made black circles dance in her vision, but it was worth it. “So Frank was a dealer?”

“Frank was a doctor. Technically still is, although he doesn’t care about it.” The thread dragged through her flesh. She felt every centimeter. Two stitches.

“I didn’t know that! Frank, a doctor. That’s an interesting thought.”

“Anyway, my dad was just working the corner selling weed, when a white dude rolled by in a Benz and backed up. Dad thought it was lights out for him. Instead, this smooth motherfucker makes him an offer. If he offloads 500 xanax bars and some percocet, he’ll let him keep 30 percent.”

Ieva let her head fall back. The needle pierced flesh. “That’s a fat percentage.”

“I know,” Clara said. “My dad isn’t one to overthink things, and he agreed. They did business for years.” Until she put him in jail to cover Frank’s ass.

She curled into herself with disgust.

“You okay?” Ieva snapped back into focus. “I can’t have you puking over my cut.” She patted Clara’s arm. It was a bit awkward, but it felt good to touch her.

“I apologize. Three to go.” She plied needle to flesh. Ieva hissed.

“Anyway, he became part of the family. You know, over all the time. Even then, I thought he looked like an actor. Like, um...what’s his name? The male stripper movie guy.”

“Matthew McConaughey?”  Ieva said.

“Yeah. But with green eyes, not blue, and darker hair.” She felt Clara tugging at her skin.

“I can see it.” Frank was an amoral, evil piece of shit, but he was far from ugly. To have to admit it, even to herself, made her skin crawl.

“He was nice. He’d bring me little gifts every time he came over. Rhinestone barrettes. Pretty shoes. Expensive perfume.”

“And how old were you when you met?” She snipped the thread. Two to go.

She sighed. “I was a very awkward, decidedly chubby eleven.”

The needle went into flesh. “Awww. Too cute.” It was. She imagined baby Clara, with chubby cheeks and dimpled elbows.

“It didn’t feel cute. I suffered from asthma as a kid, and the prednisone turned me into a little pillow girl.”

“It’s baby fat.” Ieva shrugged. She herself had always been hard and wiry, but she wasn’t averse to softness.

“Anyway, he made me feel beautiful. I started to trust him, tell him my thoughts. He was a great listener, and he didn’t treat me like a kid - blah blah blah,  you know, that same old story.”

Ieva breathed through her nose. “What story?” What she said was telling. She _did_ think he was a predator.

“He bought me a bike and went riding with me, and got me off the prednisone. My dad was elated because he was a doctor and a pillar of the community. He trusted him. So did I. By thirteen, I lost the weight. He called me his ‘hot little tomato.’”

“Ah,” Ieva said. It wasn’t easy to listen to. It brought too many memories. But she needed to know.

"Boys began sniffing around. You know how it is.” Clara looked at her.

Ieva wheezed a laugh. “I didn’t realize I was gay until I was 20. It’s okay.”

“Right, so he played the angry dad better than my own father. It was to point that it got a bit annoying, especially when he scared off Antonio Esparza.” She bit her lip and smiled. “He was _cute_.”

Snip. One more to go.

Needle bit flesh. “So, I went crazy on him. I even threw a sandal at his face for being such an ass. He was pissed, but he didn’t dare hit me then. He held me until I calmed down. I remember it like it was yesterday. The way his arms felt around me. The way he smelled. It made me dizzy. My knees were weak. He told me he did it because he didn’t deserve me. I was too good for him.”

Ieva looked away and rolled her eyes, but Clara was focused on the wound.

“He kissed me, told I was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. With that, I was his. Can you believe it?  I didn’t need much then. I was a kid.” She snipped the last bit of thread.

Jan looked in on them. “Frank’s on his way back.”

“Thanks, honey. We’ll be right out.” She blew her a kiss. Jan flushed and bounced away. Clara put a gauze on her wound and patted it on. “Try not to do too much with this hand for a couple days, at least.”

“That’s like asking a tweaker not to tweak,” she said.

Clara giggled. Ieva popped up, shaking her head. “No, that’s not what I meant-I was talking about the-”

Clara grabbed her hand. “-Okay, okay. I still have to give you the tetanus shot.”

Ieva sat down. Her cheeks burned. “I meant using the keyboard. But I can rock it one handed for a while.”

Clara chuckled. “Sure.” She unwrapped the needle and prepared the dose.

“Can I ask you a delicate question?”

“Okay. I don’t have to answer if I don’t want to.”

“Are you and Jan...um...you know...” She hissed as Clara stuck her in the shoulder.

Clara’s eyes widened. “Oh _no_. She’s barely more than a child. She’s a good girl, though.”

“It’s just, the way she looks at you,” Ieva shrugged nonchalantly. “She’s older than you were when you and Frank…”

Clara stood up. “Frank’s tastes are not mine. I prefer fully grown humans.” She snatched off the gloves and threw them in the trash. She grabbed more gloves and handed them to her. “Put it on when you shower, so the wound doesn’t get wet. I will give you some oral antibiotics, but if you feel any heat or swelling, let me know right away.”

She was walking out when Ieva called to her.

“Clara!”

She turned.

“Thanks for stitching me up. I don’t think I’ll be attempting any more snowboarding.”

Frank was coming through the front door as they walked out of the bathroom together. The smile on his face disappeared.

“What the fuck is going on here?” She looked at Ieva, still in her snowpants, with her shirt sleeve covered in blood.

"She had a little spill in the garden. I was cleaning and suturing her wound.”

“Were you now?” he said, walking to Ieva quick enough to make her wince. She showed him the dressing.

Sergei stepped in. “She did indeed have a deep cut on her palm. Madame asked me to step out and stitched her up in the bathroom.They were in there for less than 10 minutes.”

Both Ieva and Clara gave Sergei a pointed look.

“And why the blue hell weren’t you in there, then, you useless slut?” he asked Janina.

Janina was visibly trembling. “Sir, I get sick at the sight of blood. She let me leave.”

Frank walked to her and cupped her chin. “Is that so?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What need do I have of you if you don’t do what I bought you for?” he said, his voice still gentle.

Her lips wobbled. Frank walked to a large vase with long paper flowers. He pulled out a calla lily, the wrapped wire stem a full four feet long.

Janina ran into Clara’s arms. She wrapped herself protectively around her. “Frank, it’s okay. The door wasn’t locked, and I’m sure Sergei had his ear stuck to it.”

Sergei put his hands up and shook his head. “I did no such thing.”

Frank waved the makeshift cane in front of him. It made a very disconcerting swishing sound as it cut the air in front of him. “Come here, girl.” He pointed to the floor in front of him. “Papa needs to show you a bit of discipline.”

“She didn’t do anything but what I told her,” Clara said. She was losing her cool.

“That’s the problem, Birdie,” he said, giving her a smile. “In the end, she’s not here to do what _you_ tell her. She’s here to do what _I_ tell her.”

He pulled roughly on Jan’s arm, but Clara held on. She hugged the sobbing girl. “It’s going to be fine, Jan, honey,” she said in her hair. “He’s just having a bad day.”

“So now she’s Jan, honey?” Frank gripped Clara’s wrist and twisted until she felt white hot pain.

Ieva’s hands were fists at her side. She didn’t feel the pain in her hand, just impotent fury. If she attacked him, she would be put out. And she couldn’t risk it. Not now.

She tried to walk out, but Frank reached behind him and leveled a Beretta at her face. “Stay right there, sugarbritches. I’m having a come to Jesus meeting in this house tonight!” he yelled.

The skin around Clara’s eyes was pale with panic. She held on to Jan, but she trembled just as much as the girl.

He turned back to Clara. “Let her go, Birdie, or you’re gonna get as much as she does.” He swung the cane again. It whistled horribly.

Ieva’s fist began to drip blood on the parquet floor.

“Baby, please calm down. Ieva was hurt. I couldn’t just let her bleed all over the house, could I? We went into the bathroom because of the blood-”

The cane crossed her back, right above her kidneys. She screamed and wept, but she clung to the girl. Ieva bit into her cheek to stop from growling.

“Now you’re jest tryin’ to piss me off,” he said. The cane whistled and landed across her ass. She screamed. “Let her go,” he said. His face was nearly purple with rage, but his voice was venomously calm.

Clara wept into the girl’s red hair.

“Please, baby. She’s just a girl,” she said.

Around Daisy’s age. About the age her own daughter would be, if Frank had not made her abort with his lackey’s boot.

“I promise she won’t leave my side ever again. Even when I use the bathroom, or bathe.”

Jan nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir.”

The cane landed across the backs of Clara’s thighs. She cried out.

“Good relationships are about building trust,” he said, circling the trembling women. “But how can I trust you if you’ve already fucked up so royally?”

Clara could feel Jan’s heart beating out of her chest. She was a good girl. She took care of her, and was her only companion for the last three months. She kissed her forehead.

“I will do better, Frank. I promise. I’ll take her punishment. _Please_. I was the one who asked her to leave. It will never happen again.”

Frank took a deep breath. “Alright,” he said. He walked to the vase, put the flower back in and wiped his hands. “If you say so.”

He put his hand up. “It’s alright. I know that it will never, ever happen again.” He extended his hand to her. “Now come here.” His face was a picture of remorse. She kissed Jan on the forehead, then ran into his arms. He patted her gently, then reached behind him.

Ieva’s mouth fell open. She wanted to scream, but nothing came out-

He pointed the Beretta at Jan and pumped three bullets into her narrow chest.

“Oops, I did it again!” Frank yelled, his green eyes bulging with glee.

Ieva fell to her knees. She was intimately familiar with that face. He was gakked out on cocaine. And in a place like this, it was most probably laced with goodness knows what.

Clara ran to the girl, disbelieving, even as she slowly bled out on the floor.

“Jan, darling,” she said. She pressed hands to the wounds, but it was pointless. The second bullet had hit her heart. She was dead. “Oh God. Sweet Jesus.” Her words devolved into sobs. She pulled the girl’s torso on her lap and rocked over her body, weeping.

Frank sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Shee-it. All that carrying on for the help."

Clara’s head snapped up. Her face was streaked with tears and mucus, but her eyes were on fire.

“The help?” She stood up. She was covered in the girl’s blood. “You take everything. Everything that makes me happy. Everyone I love.” They squared off.

Ieva stood and took a step forward. Frank was too distracted to notice.

"You still have me,” he said, giving her a smile. It was chilling.

She put her hand on his chest. When she dragged it down to his belly, it left a crimson print. Her face had gone deathly pale.

“It’s never going to end, is it?” she asked him.

“It’s only the beginning, Birdie. Once you adjust to doing _what you are told_ , everything will be fine.”

The smell of blood was beginning to make Ieva sick.

Clara patted his chest. “And if I don’t?”

“You will.” He tipped her chin up to look her in the eye. “Don’t you worry.”

“Will you kill me too? Chop me to pieces and throw me in a river?”

He didn’t respond.

“Tell me. Just so I know.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Ugh. Stop being melodramatic.” He got Sergei’s attention, and pointed to the body. “Get rid of that. No need to be creative about it - no one gave a shit about her.”

Clara rocked as if hit by a stiff wind. Who gave a shit about _her_? Her father was in jail, and Alec had moved on. There was no one to mourn her when she died. No one. And maybe it was for the best.

Ieva stepped aside as Sergei ordered two houseboys to drag the body away. There was so much blood. So much.

“Frank, I’m tired,” she said softly. The slash across the back of her thighs had already turned a virulent purple. Ieva was surprised she could stand.

“Then take a nap,” he said, running his fingers through his curly hair. He was coming down hard. His eyes were restless, darting around in his sockets.

“Of this. I want to get out of here.”

“Don’t you like this big ol’ house? ”

“I hate it here,” she said, hissing it. “I want to go.”

“We’re going to Thailand in a month, baby. You’ll love it there. Paradise. No rules.”

“I’ll hate it there too.”

“But why? You love the beach.”

“Because you’ll be there, poisoning it.”

His eyebrow rose. “You need to slow your roll before your smart mouth gets you in trouble.”

“I hate you,” she said into his chest. It was barely a whisper.

“What?” He was genuinely surprised. His mouth twisted with it.

Her bloody hands turned to fists on his shirt. “I hate you, Frank. With every cell of my body. You are an inhuman thing. A monster. Vile.” Her teeth were bared, her body tense.

He pushed her away roughly. Her hair hung over her face, tangled, bloody.

“Go get some rest, Birdie. You’re talking crazy.”

“Kill me.” It was barely audible.

Ieva took another step forward. She didn’t know whether this was something they did every so often, or whether she was witnessing a real blowout. Her hand throbbed insistently. Blood oozed through her clenched fingers.

Frank took a step back. “Take a couple Valium, Birdie. I’ll get you another girl.”

“I don’t want another girl, Frank. Kill me, or I’ll do it.”

She lunged forward and took the gun from him. He ran up, but she put it to her head. He froze.

Shit.

“Come on, honey. I was wrong to keep you here. You’ve got cabin fever. Maybe I can push Thailand up a bit? We can look around before I start business.”

“What business?” She let the gun fall to her side.

“You know ... business. Thailand’s ripe for the picking for my more demanding clients.”

She hissed. The gun came up to the level of his eyes. “You’re disgusting.” She spit on the floor. Her saliva mixed with Jan’s blood.

“No more disgusting than you, baby. _You_ fucked those girls. I only recorded it.”

“I was just a girl. And you made me. Every single time.”

“I didn’t make you do anything, Birdie.”

“You ... hurt me.”

“You liked it,” he said.

Her hand trembled. “I loved you. You made me feel special.”

“You’re more than special, baby. You’re extraordinary. That’s what all this is for. I did it for you.”

Her mouth opened in a silent scream. The muzzle went back to her temple. Ieva took another step forward. She could almost reach her with outstretched arms.

“I should’ve stopped you before. But it’s too late now.” Another tear dripped down her face. Dried blood flaked off her lips from kissing Jan’s body.

“Put the gun down, Clara. You’ve gone far enough.” Fear finally made his voice quiver.

“I don’t want to live like this.”

“But we’re living better than we ever have.”

Her face crumpled. There was a time, a long long time ago, when it might’ve been enough. Before she knew he didn’t have a soul. When she might’ve sold her own for a bit of security. But she was far beyond it now. She knew people like Hardy existed. He loved a lie, but he had been sincere.The sudden feeling of painful emptiness made her knees weak. Frank noticed, and snatched the gun from her. When she tried to take it back, he hit her jaw hard with the butt. She crumpled to the carpet, unconscious and bleeding. Ieva tried to get to her, and he pointed the gun at her.

“Don’t you touch her, y’hear? Show’s over.”

He tucked the gun in his waistband and picked her up, struggling with her long limbs as he walked to their bedroom.

* * *

 “Say hello, Freddie!” Ellie said as Hardy climbed the final flight of stairs up to his apartment. The boy hugged his leg and jumped up and down.

“Hello, Unka Alec!” he said, and tugged at his trench coat for a hug.

He picked the boy up. “Oof. Yer getting big, Fred,” he said, ruffling his curly brown hair.

He gave him a kiss on the cheek and giggled. “Pokes!” He rubbed his stubbly face with innocent wonder. He was too young to remember his father’s prickly kisses. Hardy play-growled and rubbed his chin on Freddie’s chubby cheek.

“Rrrrr, I’m a prickly bear!” he said. Fred screamed with delight and jumped down, grabbing another bit of shortbread from the basket on the floor.

“Are you two done?” Ellie said, leaning against his door with a smile on her face.

“This is a nice surprise,” Hardy said as he opened the door and let them in. Ellie picked up the basket and waved it in his face.

“Did you bring that?” he said, slightly annoyed. She was always trying to feed him. He walked into the kitchen to make himself a proper cuppa. Work had been mercifully slow, so he came home to have a nap and change clothes. She plucked a card pinned to the checkered napkin on top of the basket and read it out loud.

_“Butter, flour, sugar. You don’t seem the type for frills. I hope these are, at least, as good as you remember. Atia.”_

Hardy snatched the card from her and squinted at it. The woman downstairs. Of course. Ellie took some shortbread and bit into it.

“What kind of name is Atia?” she said and sat down at the small kitchen table. “Jesus, that’s tasty.” She brushed crumbs off her royal purple blouse and winked at him. “You gonna stand there gawking over that note forever? Offer me a cuppa.”

He jerked into action, although his cheeks burned. The pretty woman from downstairs made him shortbread.

_You don’t seem the type for frills._

He was tempted to smile. She had scribbled her mobile number at the bottom. He set the two cups on the table and cradled one in his hands. She took another bit, but Fred came up, snatched it from her hands and ran away, giggling.

“You little thief!” she said. She turned to Hardy. “Aren’t you going to try some?”

He shook his head and looked out the window over her shoulder.

“We came by because I was already in the area, shopping for Freddie’s school supplies. We dropped by the station first, they said you were headed home, and ended up getting here before you.” She dipped the crumbly biscuit in her tea and it fell apart. “Fuck.”

He looked at her. She glowed. Married life agreed with her. “You excited for Fred starting school?”

Her eyes filled with tears. “You know what, I dunno. For now it’s just spring term, three days a week, but I’ll miss him. After so much time being a working woman, I’m surprised how easily I’ve adjusted to our little rhythms at home,” she said, looking after him. He sat in the living room looking through one of Clara’s giant, glossy art books. The one with all the nudity.

He jumped up and ran to him, slamming the book closed. “This is boring. Why don’t I turn on the telly for you?” Fred climbed onto the sofa. Hardy turned on the TV to afternoon cartoons.

Ellie leaned against the threshold, smiling. She followed him back to the kitchen.

“It’s okay for him to look at art. Artsy naked people don’t count,” she said.

“I was a boy once, Ellie. Art naked. National Geographic naked. Science book naked. It all counts.”

“But not yet. At least, I hope so,” she said, running her fingers through her curly hair.

“You got a haircut,” he said. “You look nice.”

Ellie beamed. “Thanks, you. I wasn’t bothered with the long hair anymore. Too hard to take care of.”

“How’s Mel?” he said, sipping his tea.

“Busy,” she said, shrugging. “She’s been dealing with, em … there’s been a rash of home invasions. Odd for this time of year. People are frightened.”

He nodded.

“Have you heard from Daisy?” she said, leaning in. “I’ve only seen her posts on Facebook. She looks happy, though.”

He smiled. “She emails me all the time. Snaps and little messages and things. She’s adjusting really well, and she loves it there. She says the food is amazing and not to be surprised if she comes back a stone heavier.”

Ellie threw her head back and laughed. “She’s brilliant.”

“And how are _you_ doing, then?” she said, finishing her tea.

He shrugged. “The silence is strange. After Broadchurch, you’d think I’d be used to living alone. I was really alone then, but after-” he sighed and rubbed his beard. “It’s hard.”

She put her hand over his. “I know it’s not your thing, but if you ever need any help changing things up in the flat - painting, moving furniture - let me know. I’ll put Tommy to work.”

He looked at his hands. He supposed it was Ellie’s way of saying what Tess told him outright. He should get rid of Clara’s things. He knew it was right. But he couldn’t stand the thought of it yet.

“I’ll keep it in mind. Spring’s coming.”

She nodded, then switched gears, putting on a mischievous grin. “So, how’d you meet shortbread woman? Is she pretty?”

He stood up to rinse off her mug and his own. “It’s no big thing. She moved in downstairs about a week ago. I helped her a bit.”

Ellie stood beside him and poked his arm. “Oooooh. You must’ve left quite an impression, since she was arsed to make you biscuits. Covered in a pristine checkered napkin too,” she said waving around, then tying it on like a headscarf.

He frowned at her and gently pulled the napkin from her head. “She’s a baker. It was most probably leftovers from her shop. She figured I’d like it since I’m Scottish.”

“Little does she know you don’t ever eat,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Especially tasty things like chocolate and biscuits.”

“I like those things,” he said. Memories slammed into him hard enough to make him rock on his heels. He held onto the edge of the counter. Ellie looked up at him with concern.

“You okay? Oh Jesus, don’t tell me it’s your heart.”

Sweat beaded on his forehead. He was pale with pain. He remembered Grace’s laugh on their first date, the burning sweetness of the dessert they shared. And his first taste of her. The salt of her sweat. _Damn it._

She grabbed his elbow firmly and led him back to a chair. He sat down slowly. She wiped his sweat with a paper towel.

“Thanks, Miller,” he said, taking the paper towel from her and wiping the back of his neck.

“Do you need me get you anything? Shit, I’m so glad I was here.”

He shook his head. “It’s not my heart. Just…” he didn’t know how to explain it to her. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

“Have you eaten?” she said. “There’s a shop around the corner. I can make a quick tea before heading back.”

Fred heard and ran back into the kitchen. “Yeah! French bread pizza, mum!” He smiled up at her.

He patted Fred’s head. “Sure, if you don’t mind.” He didn’t want pizza, but he liked their company.

She picked up her bag and gave him a mock indignant look. “Don’t be silly. ‘Course I don’t. Keep an eye on Freddie.”

She walked out, and Fred ran back to the living room. Brightly dressed teenage warriors were saving the Earth again on TV. He sat down on the sofa by Fred. He hurt. It was hard to breathe, and tears burned his eyes. The program went to commercial, and Freddie turned to look at him with frank curiosity.

“Hardy?” he said with a surprisingly adult inflection. It was strange - he never called him that. Only Uncle Alec. His eyes, the same luminous brown as his mum’s, were grave.

“Yes, Freddie?” he said. He gave him a wan smile, all he could muster.

“I love you,” he said, and wrapped his arms around Hardy's shoulders in a tight hug. He kissed his stubbly chin.

Hardy didn’t know how to react at first. He put his arm around Fred’s tiny shoulders and squeezed.

“I love you too, Freddie,” he said. He quickly nuzzled his curly head - it smelled of shampoo and warm, beautiful youth - and Fred tucked his body against his and got back to watching the tv. They stayed that way until Ellie came back.

Fred ran to the kitchen, but Hardy stayed on the sofa, enjoying the fading warmth on his side.


	6. Act Five, Part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an intense interlude with the beautiful new neighbor, Hardy seriously ponders moving on - but is there more than meets the eye with her? 
> 
> After the incident at the house that has her at the end of her rope, Clara realizes she has to make serious sacrifices to keep the men she loves safe.

They had a lovely tea, with Ellie and Fred going back and forth in silly riddles until they all dissolved in laughter. He still ached, but it was bearable.

“We should go now, Freddie. Mel’s waiting.”

“Mellie!” he said, jumping up and down. He opened the front door and starting running down the steps.

“Oh damn,” she said, and they ran after him.

“Oof!” It was a woman’s voice. “Hello darling! Who do you belong to?”

They reached the landing and Atia was on her haunches blocking the front door, smiling at Freddie. She rose and smiled at them. Ellie waited to be introduced, but Alec was speechless.

She leaned forward, hand out for a shake. “Hi there. I’m Ellie. And this little bounder’s Fred. Say hello, love.”

“Hello, miss,” he said obediently. He looked at her with eyes wide with pleasure. She was beautiful.

She stood and shook her hand. “I’m Atia. I live right there,” she said, pointing to her door. She gave Hardy an expectant smile. “Did you get my little gift?”

“Ah... yeah.”

There was an awkward silence.

“I’ve got to be off now. See you later, Hardy,” she said, taking Fred’s hand and walking out.

“Let me walk you out,” he said, tipping out the door behind her. Atia picked up the packages on the floor and went into her apartment.

Ellie gave him an irritated look. “What, are you mad? What are doing following me out instead of chatting her up?” she said as she put Fred in his booster seat. “She’s bloody gorgeous. What is it wi’ you and model types lately?” she got in the car and rolled the window down.

Hardy leaned in, his face an adorable picture of awkwardness.

“Knock on her door, Hardy. You forgot to say thank you in there,” she said.

He winced.

“Go on then. I doubt she’ll bite unless you ask,” she said, and giggled. He wrinkled his nose.

“You’re such a prude,” she said, and patted his cheek. “But God love you,” she said. “I’ll call you later. You better have a story for me.” She waved and drove away.

* * *

 He mulled in the foyer for a full minute before sighing and walking to her door. He knocked softly.

“I’m coming!” she said. He heard running footsteps, and she opened the door wearing a frilly apron with black polka dots. There was flour on her chin. Her face lit up.

“Hardy!” she said.

He stood there stiffly for a few seconds, then she moved aside. “Would you mind coming in? I’ve got something in the mixer.”

He nodded and walked in behind her as she ran back to the kitchen. Blueberries thawed on the counter, and there was a floury bowl in the sink.

She gently kneaded whatever was in the mixing bowl.”It’s ready. Biscuit dough doesn’t need much.” She grabbed the crumbly dough and put it in the clean floured surface by the fruit and patted it down.

Hardy sniffed the air discreetly. “Is that lemon?”

“Good nose, detective. I put a touch of zest in the dough. Lemons and blueberries are an amazing pair, right?” she said as she rolled out the pastry. He stared at her. Her gold hair was up in a ponytail that grazed the smooth back of her neck. She wasn’t as tall as Clara, but she was just as shapely.

“You bring your work home with you often?” he said.

She turned to smile at him. “ The shop I work at is all about fancy French treats, and sometimes, I need some comfort sweetness,” she said. She cut out large circles of dough and put them on a parchment-papered sheet pan. “Have you ever had strawberry shortcake?”

He shook his head.

“Really? Well this is blueberry shortcake. Strawberries are fine and all, but blueberries are my absolute favorite,” she said, and put the sheet pan in the oven. “I love blue everything.”

He looked around. Her living room walls were a pale blue, and her kitchen appliances matched them.

“I can see that,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. She gave him a lingering look.

“Can you?”

“Hmm?” he said. He was distracted by the enticing scent of lemon-laced dough. He’d had a bit of pizza, but surprisingly, the idea of blueberry shortcake enticed him. He loved blueberries.

“Will you stick around for a taste?” she said, stirring the thawing berries with her hand. She pulled a pint of heavy cream from the fridge.

He hesitated, and she deftly popped a berry in his mouth. “Aren’t they delicious?” Before he could evince surprise, she turned to pour the cream into a bowl. The berry was still ice cold, but not frozen. He crushed it on the roof of his mouth with his tongue.

“Yes or no, detective? I don’t want to whip too much cream.”

He took a deep breath. The berry’s sweetness gave him courage. “I suppose I could. It smells very good,” he said.

“Fantastic!” she said, smiling. She poured the cream in the bowl and grabbed a hand mixer.

“What are you doing?” he said, leaning into the counter. She poured some clear vanilla into it.

“Whipping cream,” she said.

“Aye?” he said, his brow furrowing at the bowl. “I’ve only seen it already whipped, or coming out of a tub you get at the market.”

“That stuff’s awful,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s whipped petroleum byproduct.”

“Really? Tastes well enough,” he said. He watched the cream solidify into soft peaks before his eyes.

“Then you’ve got to elevate your palate, sir.” His lips parted. She nudged him with her elbow. “I’m joking. But not really. But yeah,” she said. She looked up at him. Her eyes were dusty gold  in the afternoon light coming in from the window.

“Don’t call me that. Call me Hardy.”

“Hardy, could you grab two plates from the cabinet by your head?” she said.

Before he could say anything, she bent to take the biscuits out of the oven. Her tight uniform slacks rode into the cleft of her ass. She turned to look at him as she came back up.

His face burned. She’d caught him looking.

“Plates?” she said softly. He took two dessert plates from the cabinet and put them beside her on the counter. The porcelain dishes were decorated with hand-painted bluebells.

She split the biscuits to check for doneness and to speed up the cooling process.

“It’s nice we saw each other in the hallway,” she said. She sat down at the kitchen table. He sat opposite her. “Ever since I got here, it’s been work and home, home and work. I don’t really know many people. I’m glad you decided to stay - dessert is something that’s sweeter when it’s shared, right?” she said, standing up to assemble the shortcakes.

He froze. Clara’s deep laughter echoed in his brain. He felt the breeze blowing in from the ocean, saw the candlelight reflected in her dark eyes.

She put a plate in front of him, and squeezed his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

He felt like a punchdrunk fighter. “I’m tired. Long days at work, and I have to go back in a bit.”

“Tell me about it. I’ve been up since 4:45 this morning, and it’s my late day,” she said. She dug into the biscuit topheavy with cream and berries. She wasn’t the kind of woman who was self-conscious about eating in front of men.

“Mmmm,” she purred, closing her eyes. “This is pleasure you can’t measure,” she said, licking cream off her fork.

He stared at her as she devoured it, but he couldn’t hearten himself to take a bite. She noticed, and flushed.

“Here I am, eating like a piglet and you haven’t taken a single bite. I’m sorry! I just can’t help myself. I’ve been thinking about this all day,” she said. She dipped her finger in a cloud of cream and sucked it. “Go on. Have just one bite. You won’t regret it.”

He picked up his fork and looked down at the dessert. Although it smelled appetizing while in the oven, now it made him slightly ill. The berries were too squishy, and the cream melting over the warm biscuit was a nauseating pale yellow.

She walked around the table. He looked up at her with naked sorrow. For a split second, she hesitated, but her smile stayed on as she loaded the fork and bent by him.

“Take one tiny bite. If not, I might be a little hurt that you didn’t want it,” she said, pouting.

His shoulders hunched. She walked in front of him and lowered herself until she sat on his knee. It was a risk, but it paid off. He was so defeated he didn’t balk. She put her arm around his shoulder, pressed her breast to his side, hoping it would make him react. He sighed. She put the fork down, and took his face in her hands. His brown eyes were rimmed with red, but there were still so beautiful. Her heart lurched.

“Hardy, I know what happened,” she said without preamble. She slid off his lap and knelt in front of him.

“What?” He furrowed his brow, but did not move her hands away.

“My next door neighbors - the Kaurs - when I told them about you, the volunteered the story about the woman, and the fire...and what happened afterward.”

He nodded. She caressed his stubbly cheeks. His heart was heavy, but it felt so good to have a woman touch him that way. His head spun with a toxic mix of lust and agony. She was so, so lovely, and she wanted him. He looked in her eyes. Her heart shaped lips parted and there was a telltale hitch of breath. If he kissed her, she would let him. He knew it now.

He thought of work, another long night of boredom, and then coming home.

Home? Pfft. It’s not even home anymore, just a place now devoid of any warmth it might’ve ever had. And it went away so very quickly, both with Clara, and Daisy.

Was he to remain cold forever?

Her hand moved, very slowly, up his leg.

Atia was warm. She was so close he could taste her berry-scented breath-

His phone rang. It broke the temporary spell. She rose, then he stood.

“That’s work. I’ve got to go now. Thank you for dessert.” he said, smoothing his tie nervously.

She nodded, trying to hide her irritation. “Of course. Hopefully we’ll bump into each other again soon,” she said, then looked into his eyes expectantly.

“Yes. Maybe,” he said. “Oh, and thanks for the shortbread. Ellie and Fred loved it.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Are you and Ellie, um…”

“Oh no. She’s a very dear, very married friend of mine,” he said, staring at his phone screen intently.

“It’s never stopped people before,” she said, then winced. He didn’t notice.

“What was that?” he said, putting his phone back in his pocket.

“Let me walk you to the door,” she said, taking off her apron.

He stood at the threshold for a second, staring at her. “Thanks again,” he said.

“It was my pleasure,” she said, biting her lip. “Maybe I can make you actual food sometime? You know, to brush up on my cooking skills.”

“Perhaps. Gotta go,” he said, and walked swiftly up the stairs.

“This ain't gonna be easy,” she whispered, and closed the door with a sigh.

* * *

 He grabbed his coat,  then stood in his kitchen until his heart rate slowed. Clara’s violets seemed to accuse him with their anachronous winter loveliness.

Was he to mourn forever? _She_ left _him_. Without ever having told him the truth. Without even a kind word of goodbye.

And she’d died, horribly. She was never, ever coming back.The dream was over. And he nearly kissed his very attractive, compassionate neighbor. He might’ve fucked her, if she let him, if only for the contact, her warmth and salt-

The faraway taste of blueberries was replaced with bile. He gagged and dry heaved, bent over the sink.

Before Clara, he wouldn’t have openly thought things like that. Felt, definitely, but never expressed, even to himself. To fuck. To taste.

Clara coaxed out and aroused his baser instincts, honed his craving for pleasure, then went away.

He turned on the faucet to rinse out his mouth, and washed his face in the icy cold water. He took the buzzing phone out of his pocket and swiped left. It had not been work - only an alarm. He sprinkled the violet with his wet hand. The water beaded on the petals, gleaming citrine bright in late afternoon sun.

He looked to the sky beyond. It was so surprisingly lovely, even thought it was bitter cold. He put on his coat and walked to the door, then turned around, picked up the potted violet, and threw it in the trash.

* * *

 Frank burst into Ieva’s room.

“Fromm, where are you?”

“In the bathroom, man,” she said. The marble sink was speckled with red. She had fucked up Clara’s stitches.

He walked into the bathroom and closed the door. Despite her hand, Ieva got into a boxer’s stance.

“Whoa there, chill,” Frank said, giggling manically. “In any case, what’s the point of bringing fists to a gun fight,” he said, waving the gun in her face.

“I don’t want anything to do with your woman, Frank. She was just fixing my hand,” she said, sucking her teeth. It throbbed.

“Lemme get a look at that,” he said, stepping forward. She flinched.

He gave her a half smile, licking his white teeth. “Relax. I used to do this for a living.”

When she put her hand out, it shook a bit.

“That’s my girl - clever as they come,” he said, scrutinizing. “But you mangled the shit out of it, the stitches ripped.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” she said before she could censor herself. He just laughed and nodded.

“Listen, I just got a text from Dal in England - she said she might have some choice footage for me. Let’s take a peek.”

She looked at him, puzzled. He had mobile access to the cameras, he didn’t need her.  She walked into the workroom and brought up her cameras on the big screens. Hardy and the plant stood in her kitchen. His body language was telling - he hunched slightly, curling over her as she looked up and smiled at him.

“Aw, she’s the best,” he said, nudging her. “Looks sweet as pie, but fucks like a savage. Trust,” he said, winking at her. She remained impassive.

Frank leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed. The woman bent over the oven, arching her back. Hardy stared. Frank snickered.

“What a asshole,” he said. He sat down at the table opposite her and watched her eat, but he didn’t touch it. “I’m sensing a pattern. I don’t understand what Birdie saw in this dude -”

Dal moved to his lap and took his face in her hands. “-Oh shit-”

Ieva watched as the woman slid between his knees. He looked down at her with a mix of pain and hunger. Her hand moved up his leg…

“She’s gonna do it-” Frank said, walking closer to the screens. Ieva watched with interest. Didn’t he love Clara? Could he fall so easily to the ministrations of an obvious hooker?

They all jumped together as Hardy's phone went off.

“Fuck!” Frank said, punching the air. “I really needed this now,” he said. They watched as Hardy ran away. “Dickless bastard.” He shook his head, and dialed someone on his phone.

"Hey darlin’,” he said.

“Frank,” Atia said. Ieva sat at her desk and put on some earphones. She was curious.

“I thought you were gonna give us a show, baby,” he said softly.

“I almost had ‘im, but…” she sighed. On the screens, she paced and took off the apron and threw it across the room.

“But what?”

“He’s not the kind of man I usually deal with.”

“And what kind of man is that?”

“The kind that pays to fuck me,” she said flatly.

“So are you saying you can’t do it?” Frank said, looking at his nails. He was due for a manicure.

“I can. I just need a little more time. Hardy seems like he needs finessing. If I throw myself at him again, he’s gonna bolt for good.”

“ _Hardy_.” Frank closed his eyes and sighed. “I’m startin’ to get really, really irritated by this motherfucker.”

The woman bit her lip. “Give me a couple of weeks. I’ll get you what you paid me for. I’m nothing if very thorough,” she said, looking toward the hidden camera in the living room and blowing him a kiss.

Frank licked his canine. “You are that,” he said. “But you have to do the voodoo that you do quicker, honey. I don’t have a couple weeks. I need this footage stat. My girl’s gettin’ antsy.”

She sighed. “I’ll figure something out. I think I have an angle.” She started to strip. She wasn’t wearing underwear. Ieva looked away.

“And what’s that?”

“He’s an emotional man. To fuck him, I’ll have to get into his head first. Once I do, he’s mine.”

“Then get into his head quick,” he said, and hung up.

“Evie, could you be a doll and copy that little interlude and send it to your phone?”

“Okay,” she said. She looked at her palm. She was bleeding through the fresh dressing.

“Sergei is gonna take you and Birdie to town to get looked at. I think you should get chummy.”

She looked at him incredulously. Wasn’t the whole episode earlier due to them being in the same room alone?

“I know, I know, I blew a gasket. But I made a mistake. Clara needs a friend. And hooboy, are you her type.”

Her type? She forgot her hand.

“She needs someone to care for. Someone who she might entrust her secrets to. And you are that woman.” He looked her up and down with new eyes. “I need to know more about who Hardy is, and what he likes. Maybe she’ll tell you if you give it to her good enough.”

Her mouth dropped open. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“You’re here because I practically picked you up off the street. I’m paying you three times what you asked, and you’re gonna do what I tell you.”

“No. I do tech. Not people.”

“So you’re saying you don’t like her?” His eyebrow rose. He took a step toward her. His energy made her hackles go up.

“I don’t have an opinion,” she said.

“I see the way you look at her,” he said.

“I don’t look at her.”

“Horse shit. You got access to the surveillance cams. I see when you log in and out, and what you’re looking at.”

Of course.

He leaned into her and breathed into her ear. “Do this for me. For her. You heard what she said earlier. She’s not well. She needs a friend, and she is pissed at me.”

He gave her an exaggerated mea culpa look that made her want to punch the cartilage of his nose into his brain. He noticed and sucked his teeth.

“Kitty got claws,” he said, raising his hands. “Come on. You are curious, aren’t you? You’ve seen her work.”

“I have not,” she said, frowning. And she hadn’t. It felt disrespectful.

“That’s too bad, then,” he said. “But I’m giving you permission to try the real thing ... on the condition that you give me what I want.”

She didn’t know what to do. A man with a gun was asking to her seduce his girl. A man who killed out of irritation. Her conversation in the bathroom came back to her. It was odd that she didn’t remember the horrible pain, just the smoothness of Clara’s forehead, or the sweetness of her breath as she spoke to her.

“That look is a yes, I think,” he said, smiling. “I knew you’d make the right choice,” he said.

“Will you hurt her again?” she said.

“It’s none of your gotdamned business what I do with Birdie,” he said, patting her shoulder painfully, “and honestly, I’m beginning to feel there’s an echo in here.” He was getting agitated again.

“I’m sorry,” Ieva said. She didn’t want to get shot for her trouble. He appreciated her capitulation.

“I won’t hurt her for fucking you. In any case, a woman can’t replace good dick. I ain’t scared.”

Uhuh.

“What do you want with the clip?” she said.

“After you get friendly, I want you to show it to her. Tell her I’m keeping a close eye on her man, and oops, what did my eye spy? Him getting real close to his neighbor. He’s movin’ on, and so should she.”

“Right.”

“Not right away, or it will look suspicious. It has to look like it’s your little secret. You’re risking your job, maybe your hide telling her. And be delicate about it - she’s fragile, but she’s not dumb.”

“But what if she tells you?”

“She’s not gonna tell me. She’s really pissed at me right now. Really fuckin’ pissed.” His face darkened. “It’s time to rock,” he said. “I’m gonna go get Clara ready to go. Be downstairs in 20 minutes. The game is afoot.”

He walked out quickly.

“Fuck,” she said softly at the dark screens. “Fuck fuck fuck!

* * *

There was an egg shaped, purple bump on the side of her face from the gunslap. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled a tendril of hair from her tear-wet face. She was a mess of makeup, blood, sweat. His cock twitched in his pants.

“I’m so sorry, Birdie,” he said. His green eyes were wet. “I didn’t mean to hit you. You know to get out of my way when I’m high.” She tried to turn away from him, but her injuries made it impossible. “And the girl - I didn’t know you cared about her so much. I’ll get you another one - a prettier one.”

She let out a wheezing moan. Blood dripped from the corner of her mouth. He leaned in and poked at the growing bump on her jaw.

“I think I might’ve cracked somethin’ there, baby,” he said. He bent to kiss her, and she slapped him hard enough to make his ear ring.

“Phthuck ye.” _Fuck you._

The calmness, the sureness of her tone chilled him. She had never gone that far before, and he couldn’t dismiss it.  

“Birdie, you really scared me back there,” he said. Since she couldn’t turn away, she closed her eyes. “Does this place really have you that antsy?”

He tried to take her hand. She crossed her arms over her chest.

“You’re all bloody. I’m gonna draw you a bath,” he said, and ran into the bathroom. He poured enough epsom salt into the water to make the steamy air sharp, then ran back out.

He approached her carefully, just in case she tried to kick him, but she was inert as he picked her up. “Ooh, you’re a heavy honey,” he said, groaning dramatically, since she was as tall as he was. “And mostly tit, too.”

He hoped she might chuckle. Her eyes were dark glass. He set her gently on the toilet and took her clothes off, sucking his teeth at the horrific bruises. He didn’t feel like he hit her _that_ hard. He would never quit being fascinated how strong yet fragile human flesh was. She was so beautiful. The tangled hair and the tear trails on her cheeks made her look all the more enticing. His hand moved up her thigh. He spread her legs and got in between them, kissing the cheek that wasn’t purple.

“Even now, you’re more sexy than any woman that’s ever walked the Earth,” he whispered. He cupped her breasts in his hands, and squeezed. She didn’t react. His hand moved between her legs. She was defiantly dry.

She stood up and tried to lift her leg to get in the bath, and nearly collapsed with pain.

“Whoa there!” he grabbed her and eased her gently into the water. She sighed again. Bloody water dripped from her hair, leaving rusty swirls in the bath. He caressed her unbruised cheek.

“I’m sorry I lost my shit. Yorgi just told me his pipeline in Thailand dried up - there’s too much heat. I’m gonna have to find someone else, and that means paradise will have to wait for a while longer.”

Her eyes rolled up to meet his, and they spoke volumes. If she stayed one more day in that house, she would go crazy. And he killed the girl he trusted enough to be suicide watch. Ieva would have to do.

“You need to see a dentist. I’m gonna have Sergei drive you into town. That sound about right?”

She grunted.

He poured shampoo into his hand and started to lather her hair. She was stiff beneath him. Her breasts floated in the dirty water. He wanted to touch, but she would scream.  It made him angry. She was _his_ girl. _His_ beauty. He didn’t want to share, but if he didn’t, he risked losing her.

“That feel nice?” he said as she massaged her scalp. She remained silent. He kept going. “Hmm?”

Rage tightened his hand to a fist in her hair. Her mouth exploded open in a scream of surprise, and more blood stained his face.

“You need to stop this, y’hear?”

Her eyes filled with fresh tears, but they were still furious. She spit in his face. Hot, bloody mucus dripped off his chin and into the water.

“I see you, Birdie,” he said softly, letting go of her hair. “You’re feelin’ froggy.” He cleaned his face in the bathwater. “But it seems like you don’t see me.”

She went underneath the water to rinse her hair. When she came back up, he was sitting at the edge of the tub as if nothing had happened. She refused to look at him.

“Clara.”

She aggressively scrubbed the remaining dried blood from her body.

“Clara.” He said her name again, even more softly. “Look at me.”

She pressed the washcloth to her face very gently and groaned.

“Look at me!” His voice bounced off the tile and exploded in her head.

Her eyes drifted to his face.

“You try something like that again, they die.”

Her bruised lips quivered.

“You try to run away, they die. You off yourself, they die. You just as much as sneeze in the direction of the authorities, they’ll die, slowly and painfully -”

Sergei knocked briskly. “The car is ready, sir. The dentist has cleared her afternoon schedule to treat madame,” he said through the door.

“She’ll be right out,” he said, then turned back to her. “Have I made myself clear?”

She nodded slowly.

“Good,” he said, clapping his hands and standing up. He helped her out of the water and dried her. “Oh, and by the way - I’m sorry about overreacting earlier. Now that Jan’s gone, Ieva’s all that’s left until I find another person. I don’t mind if you spend time with her. I understand if you need your girl time,” he said as he walked her to the bedroom.

He will kill them both. Her heart beat fast in her ears, despite the excruciating pain in her jaw and back. Kill my father. Kill Alec.

If she runs. If she ends her misery. They would die. Her life stretched before her, an unending litany of horror.

Frank lay down a shin-length dress in a fire engine red. “I’ll help you put this on. It’s easier than putting on pants,” he said as he helped her into her underwear. She hissed as his hand grazed the bruise across her back. “Oops.”

He zipped her up and sat her down at her vanity. “Do something with yourself. I want you to look dignified.”

She powdered the good side of her face, and put eye makeup on. Her hair was still damp, but she put it in a tight bun.

He looked over her shoulder. “Pretty as a picture. If she asks what happens, tell her the usual, obviously,” he said, and kissed her. She bore it patiently. He helped her up and into a full-length silver fox coat, then put the matching hat on her. “This covers up most of the damage. You look like a million bucks.”

She walked to the door, where Sergei waited with her bag.

“Let me help you, madame,” he said, putting his arm out for her to hold going down the steps to the car. Ieva was already inside, holding a gauze to her bleeding hand.

Sergei got in and adjusted the rearview mirror. Despite the makeup, the two women’s faces matched. Pale and stamped with misery.

He turned on the radio to a Russian EDM station and drove off.


	7. Act Five, Part 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hardy is on the verge of moving on, while in Belarus, Clara is on the verge of giving up until she finds a little something in a flower shop to keep her going for just one more day.

Hardy was going to drive to work, but he decided to go to the beach instead. It was cold and gray and getting dark, so there was no one else there.

It was just as well.

He walked near the surf and sat down on the sand, hugging his knees. The sun was beginning to sink into the horizon. Soon, there would be stars peeking through the clouds. The cold seeped through his clothes, stilling him. His eyes drifted from the clouds to the surf. The foam churned against the golden sand, making it hiss. A sharp, salt-laden breeze blew his hair from his forehead.

Why do I always end up here?

He hugged his knees tighter to his chest, and rested his chin on them. The position was juvenile, but comforting. He was surprised he could still do it in his late forties, but muscle memory was everything. He sat like that whenever he needed to really think things through as a boy, and he had not outgrown the habit.

The sinking sun filtered orange and violet light through the wispy clouds on the horizon.

**Look, Ma. Your favorite color. Violet.**

The surf roared.

**I’m tired of hurting. Tired of being lonely, and unloved. Tired of everyone leaving me.**

A tear dripped down his cheek and into his beard. His toes curled in his brogues. He thought back on Atia’s sympathetic gaze, and the warmth of her touch as it moved up his thigh. Only when he ran into his apartment did he realize that he was half-hard. He hadn’t felt anything in months. But Atia made him feel like a human again.

A part of him felt selfish. He wasn’t unloved. He knew that Daisy loved him, and Ellie. But he wanted something more.

**What do I do? How do I get over it?**

He stared at the surf, and again, he pushed down the urge to run into it. The waves were so wild they would surely swallow him whole. He closed his eyes tight and pressed his forehead against his arm until the image faded.

The sun sank into the ocean, and the water went from gray to silver. The temperature dropped quickly, and the wind bit at his cheeks and fingers. Another tear fell, but this one nearly froze with the cold. He shivered with anxiety.

**How could you possibly show me, when it started with you?**

He swallowed a sob and rose to his feet. His legs were rubbery as he walked back to the parking lot. He slapped as much sand as he could from his clothes and got in his car. His phone beeped.

DS Elliot was wondering where he was.

* * *

 Sergei stood by the dentist as they both stared into Clara’s bruised mouth.

“And how did this happen again?” the dentist said, bringing the surgical light closer to her face. She squinted at the injury.

“Madame slipped on the ice, and fell on her face,” Sergei said in Russian.

The dentist’s eyes were openly incredulous. “You know, I volunteered to take care of the wounded in the local Russian military hospital,” she said. “I was still a teenager, but I remember everything. Every stab wound. Every gunshot hole. Shrapnel. Burns. Punches. Drunken gunslaps.”

Sergei’s face remained a picture of calm. “And I thank you for your service. Again, this was an unfortunate accident.” He held his arms behind his back. “Is madame in too much pain?”

“I gave her enough nitrous to knock out a bear.”

Clara’s eyes were peacefully closed.“It’s a hell of a lucky fall, then,” she said. She poked around at the other teeth around the one that was neatly knocked out with the blow. “None of the surrounding teeth were ever loosened. Interesting she would slip and fall exactly on that one tooth.”

“Most interesting,” Sergei said.

“At least she had the presence of mind of keep it in the socket. Barring complications, this should be an easy fix.”

“Madame is a surgeon. I’m sure she figured it out.”

“Is she now?” She looked down at her bright red dress and her surgically enhanced curves. “Plastic?” It wasn’t odd - there was a huge demand for aesthetic surgical procedures since Communism ended.

“Thoracic.” He gave her a ghost of a smile.

“I see,” she said. She shut up, and got back to work.

* * *

Ieva waited impatiently for Sergei and Clara. It hadn’t taken long to re-stitch her hand, and this time, they had mercifully shot it with a local anesthetic.

 The late afternoon sun peeked through the clouds over the city. She wanted to explore a bit, but she was afraid if Sergei came out and didn’t see her, he would instantly contact Frank and all hell would break loose. Either way, she couldn’t run away. Not until she knew the identity of every single one of Frank’s cohorts. Not until Thailand.

Not until she could save Clara.

The thought made her jump. It was her  younger, far more rash self. She didn’t know Clara enough to be sure she wouldn’t hang her if she found out her true objective. But she had a feeling, and it had only been strengthened by the morning’s conversation. She looked down at her freshly stitched hand. It was worth it. Her sixth sense told her so. She had met a lot of venal, heartless women. Fucked a couple of them, before wisdom had given her self-control. Clara might belong to Frank, but she did not belong with him.

She was not complicit. She was trapped.

She looked around the small square in front of the medical building. The architecture was boxy, grey, efficient. She shivered and pulled her hoodie over her head. Her eyes scanned the shops just adjacent. A couple of cafes, with people sitting on small tables drinking steaming cups of tea.

Eastern Europeans weren’t afraid of a little cold, after all.

Beside the cafes, a flower shop. There was drift of red roses by the display window. Baby’s breath. Palest green hydrangeas. They felt like a blessing amidst all the gray.

“Ms. Fromm.”

It was Sergei. He held Clara’s elbow, but the nitrous gave her a second wind. She walked briskly in her high heels, already pointing at the rich red in the display window.

“I want flowers. Dozens of them. For the house,” Clara said. Her voice was muffled, but her eyes were feverish.

She jogged across the square.

Sergei looked at Ieva. “I’m going to fetch the car. Please keep an eye on madame - the gas has made her giddy.”

“Okay,” Ieva said, and ran to catch up to her.

Clara yanked the shop door open and took a deep breath. “Heavenly.”

She stuffed her hands in her pockets and followed Clara as she went around seeing what was in. Surprisingly, she ignored the display roses. She gravitated toward a vase of tiny white trumpet flowers.

“Lily of the valley,” she said. She handed Ieva a small bouquet of them. “They fit you.”

It hurt to see her talk. Underneath the fur hat, she looked like she had a round with Tyson. But, when she turned to the side, she was stunning.

She walked to each chiller and pointed her favorites out. White and red anemonies with black centers. Bouquets of peonies in different shades of pink. Orchids, spare and lovely. Freesia. Tea roses in antique yellow and white. As she pointed, the shop clerk plucked the best flowers from their buckets and began to wrap them up.

Ieva pointed at a bucket of gladioli. “How about those?”

Clara wrinkled her nose. “Those are funeral flowers. I don’t want them in the house.”

Ieva shrugged. She turned and squinted at a dark corner of the shop. “How about those then? They look pretty.”

Clara turned, and her half smile faded. 

_...flashes of marigold and crimson, then the taste of wine and salt-drenched kisses..._

Her eyes filled with tears, and every cell shivered with longing.

The shop owner bowed. “I apologize. Those are hidden away for a regular customer.”

“Did they already buy them, are did you put them aside on the off chance they’ll come in wanting them?”

“The latter,” he said, bowing again. She was bruised, but she looked rich, and he didn’t want to disappoint her.

“I want them. All that you have. And every new shipment, along with the peonies.”

The man’s eyes got big. She was a great lady - the ranunculi were damn near worth their weight in silver, and he had three more buckets in the back.

He nodded and ran around the counter, bringing the first bunches of flowers for her to inspect. The flowers were saffron, rust, rose, and red. She took an armful and refused to let go. Sergei waited outside in the car. His eyebrows rose as she saw both of them juggling flowers. They got in the car. Ieva stared at the lily of the valley in her hands.

“You don’t like them?” Clara said. Her words were still a bit slurred with the nitrous. “Because if you don’t…” she tried to grab them, but Ieva pressed them to her chest.

“No. I love them,” she said. “Really.”

Clara plucked a saffron bloom from the bunch and pressed her nose to the tightly packed petals. A tear made its way down her cheek.

“Are you okay?” Ieva said.

“Not at all,” she said, surprising herself with her own honesty. “Not even a bit.”

* * *

 When they arrived back at the house, Frank was waiting.

He bounced when he saw them offloading the drifts of flowers.

“They’re gorgeous, baby,” he said. She walked by him and into the house. The sun set behind them.

“Jan-” Her mouth snapped shut, and she groaned in agony. Her arms sagged, and a bouquet of tea roses fell to the floor. Tears fell freely down her face. Frank saw, and put his arm around her. She was in too much pain to move.

Sergei picked up the roses. “I will get vases for the flowers,” he said, giving her a meaningful look. She carefully wiped her tears and turned to Frank.

“I’m exhausted, Frank. I need sleep.”

“It’s fine. I’ll have dinner with Ieva.”

“Actually, man, I have a lot of work to do. I’m taking my food upstairs.”

“Whatever,” he said, and walked away, leaving Clara teetering in the foyer.

Ieva took a deep breath, then gently grabbed her elbow and led her to the bedroom. Even as she helped Clara out of her coat, she refused to let go of the ranunculi.

“Could you?” Clara said, pointing to her zipper.

“Maybe I could call Frank-” Clara’s face crumpled. “Okay.”

“My robe is on my vanity chair,” she said. Ieva grabbed it and handed it to her. This one was a rich, deep blue silk. Ieva’s fingers trembled as she unzipped. Regardless of what Frank thought he knew, she never watched Clara when she was in the bedroom.  The dress fell to her ankles in a crimson pile. Ieva lowered her eyes as she bent to pick it up off the ground.The purple cane bruises across her back and thighs made her suck her teeth. It was surprising she could still walk straight.

She was so close that Clara’s warmth made her skin tingle. She wafted the smell of almonds as she put on the robe. She put the bouquet on the nightstand and lay down.

“Do you need anything?” Ieva said.

“Something to put the flowers in, please.”

She grabbed a Waterford glass from the kitchen, filled it with water and ran back into the bedroom. Clara was already half asleep. She put the multicolored blooms in the cup on the nightstand.

Clara touched her wrist. “I’m sorry.”

“About what?”

She sighed. “Everything.”

“You don’t need to apologize for Frank,” Ieva said, daring to sit at the edge of the bed.

“I don’t speak for him. I’m talking about me.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Clara turned to look at her. “What kind of life have you lived that what happened falls within the realm of the ordinary?”

“You’d be surprised to hear the things I’ve seen,” Ieva said. She pulled the duvet over Clara’s legs.

“Why are you here?” Clara said.

“Why are you?” Ieva said. They looked at each other for a minute, then Ieva stood. “I’ve got to get going.” She walked to the door, then turned around, shaking her head. “Don’t be sorry, okay?”

Clara nodded slowly. “Good night.”

She saw Sergei waiting in the shadows of the hallway. He walked into the bedroom and stood by the door.

“Madame. I have put the flowers in the most suitable places around the house. Frank requested I tell you he will be traveling east very early tomorrow morning. Do you need anything further?”

“Thanks, Sergei. Could you get my pills?”

Instead of walking to her vanity, he went straight to her, holding a small card in his hand.

“I found this in the roses,” he said. His blue eyes were intense.

She took the card and turned it.

Tomorrow, 11 AM. Front door. Dress warm. Bring the freesia.

She looked up at him, eyebrow raised. He nodded, then she nodded. Frank is always watching, and listening.

“It’s just the receipt for the flowers. Thanks again, Sergei.” She handed it back to him, sure he would get rid of it. Could it be what she thought it was? She didn’t know who to trust. But what was the worse that could happen anymore?

He brought her a glass of water and her pills. She stared at them, then just took the water.

“I think I can handle it tonight,” she said, and carefully drank down the water. Her jaw was really beginning to ache, but she had been through far worse. She wanted to be alert for tomorrow.

“Good,” he said, and put the pills on the nightstand. His frankness surprised her. He did a crisp about face and walked out, closing the door behind him. She turned and stared at the flowers. They bled their bright colors into the semi-darkness. For the first time in nearly a year, she didn’t feel completely alone.

* * *

 DS Elliott drove in silence. Ever since Grace’s death, Hardy got even more taciturn than he was before, if that was even possible. But her father was a stoic Indian émigré. She was used to it.

“You’re extra quiet tonight, boss,” she said, shifting gears smoothly.

He gave her squinty look. The woman’s dark eyes shone in the headlights. She was younger and still green, but he didn’t feel the same way Ellie did. For him, training someone new wasn’t unbearable.

“You’d usually be talking entirely too fast about possible suspects, asking a million questions I can’t possibly answer…” she turned into the station parking lot. She turned to look at him briefly. “Everything okay?”

He looked out the window. She took the hint.

She parked and took a deep breath. “It’s been a weird evening, but I’m glad it’s over. I miss Rani,” she said, referring to her baby girl.

“How is the wee one?” he said, glad to change the subject. Lana smiled wide. “She’s amazing. It hasn’t even been a year, but she can say ‘shoe’ and ‘book’ as well as ‘mam’ and ‘da’. I understand book since Campbell and I try to read to her every night, but shoe? What’s that about?”

“Babies are extraordinary creatures. Just be glad she hasn’t picked up something less appealing.” He gave her a pointed look, a smile playing on his lips.

Elliott laughed and nodded. “Very true. I do try to control my potty mouth in the house, though. That hopefully won’t be an issue for a long time.”

They both stepped out of the car. “Are you going up?” she said.

He sighed. “I think I can trust you to tie up all the loose ends tonight.”

“Oh yeah?” She had grown accustomed to his micromanagement.

“Yes. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. He walked to his car, hands deep in his pockets. She looked after him. He did have something on his mind - she could see it bowing his shoulders. She shook her head. He had sat down in her living room as tears dripped into his lap after Grace died. Both her and her husband sat with him in silence and cooked for him before his daughter came to stay. She hoped one day he might trust her enough to actually talk to her, though.

They were partners, after all.

* * *

This time, he called Ellie.

“Hardy! You have something to tell me?” she said. He heard late-night tv in the background.

He sighed.

“So… did you thank her for the shortbread?”

“She made blueberry shortcake.”

“She made you more dessert?” she giggled mischievously. “Christ, just ask her out already.”

“I ran out. But we..um..she-”

“Yes?”

“We nearly... uh...” he cleared his throat. “We nearly kissed. Well, she almost kissed me. I wanted her to, but I ran.”

“Why?” she said. “Seriously, you’re something else.”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “It’s too fast?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

He raked his hands through his hair. “I dunno. Maybe.”

“Maybe about what?”

“Everything,” he said.

“Can I ask you a frank question?”

“Yes.”

Now she sighed. “Did you want her? Not because it might be good for your mental health, or to show others you’re healing, but just ... wanted her?”

He looked beyond the windshield and into the night. His cheeks burned.

“You’re a grown man, Hardy. Do what’s best for you. I won’t judge you either way. And those who do can fuck off.”

He heard Mel’s voice whispering. “Knock on her door. It’s not too late to make it right.”

“You’re mad. It’s after midnight,” Ellie said to Mel.

“If she likes him, she won’t mind. Even if she has to be up in the morning,” Mel said into the phone. She crunched something. Knowing her, it was more an apple than kettle chips.

“Mel has spoken,” Ellie said. “And I agree.”

“Right,” he said. “Have a good night.”

“G’night, Hardy.” She hung up.


	8. Act Five, Part 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hardy begins to see stars in Atia's eyes, but all the way in Belarus, Ieva is seeing things a little more clearly.

He drove home slowly, deciding what to do. It was 12:32 AM. He could give her a call tomorrow afternoon, and maybe ask her out. Something about knocking on her door after midnight felt like...history repeating. And although he wanted to move forward, he didn’t want to step on the memories that still gave him happiness.

He thought of the violet slowly wilting in his kitchen bin amongst slimy teabags and stale crusts. Regardless of what he decided, there was no turning back. He couldn’t, for the sake of his sanity.

He parked and walked into the building, and although he was perfectly determined to walk up the stairs, his feet guided him to her door. He looked down at her welcome mat. He should go home. Wait until morning, like a gentleman. He was about to do an about face when she opened the door, wielding a tripod.

“Jesus Christ!” she said, nearly dropping everything. He bent to catch the folded telescope before it hit the floor. She clutched at her chest. She wore a deep pink peacoat and a bright striped scarf. Her blond hair was in a messy bun at the top of her head. She looked stunning.

He held up the telescope. “Lucky catch.”

“Yes,” she said, taking it and leaning it against the wall. “What are you doing at my door at this hour?” She smiled warmly up at him.

“I wanted to-” he took a deep breath. She shifted the small basket she held from one hand to another.

“Why don’t we put a pin in whatever you’re gonna say until we’re at the beach?” She let the door close behind her and walked confidently to the front door. She turned and pointed her chin at the telescope. “Could you?”

He grabbed it and followed her.

She walked to a compact American car and opened the hatchback. “Put the telescope in here. Carefully.”

She got in and waited patiently for him to get in beside her. Madly, he thought about leaning in to tell her to go ahead without him. He wanted to slap himself for it. He got inside, his knees nearly hitting the glove box in the tiny car.

“Ooh, you’re a tall one,” she said, and leaned over to adjust the seat. Her lavender scented hair tickled his chin. He slid back quickly. She looked into his eyes. “Better?”

“Yes, thanks.”

She pulled off. “It’s crazy to go the the beach at this time of year - it’s bloody freezing - but the stars are brightest over the ocean,” she said. She pointed at the basket in the backseat. “But I always bring a little something to keep me warm.” Her eyes drifted over him.

“An extra blanket?” he said, failing miserably at levity.

“I make a mean toddy,” she said, laughing anyway. “If you behave, I’ll share.”

“Behave?”  He grabbed the handle over the window as she took a sharp turn into the beach access road. She went into a particular deep pothole, and he hit the car roof.

She giggled as he rubbed his head. “I’m so sorry,” she said, laughing at his mock irritated expression. “This car is a glorified Matchbox racer.”

He gave her a tentative smile, and her fingers lingered in his thick hair. She put her hand back on the steering wheel.

“Your hair smells like a spring,” she said.

“Okay,” he said. He looked flustered. She parked by a small cottage at the far end of the parking lot. He was there for the second time  that night.

She ran out and popped open the hatchback. He walked behind her. She bent deeply to grab her basket, and again, he couldn’t help staring.

“Grab the microscope, Aristarchus.”

He obeyed and followed her as she trekked up toward the cliffs.

“I already have my special spot,” she said over her shoulder. “Right outside Maddox field. The cliff there thrusts directly into the ocean. It’s like having my own personal planetarium.”

“Right.”

They walked along the edge of the cliffs. Dried grass crunched underneath their feet.

“Here we are,” she said, putting the basket on the ground. She took the telescope from his arms and opened it in a place where the grass was especially flat. She really did visit often. She went into her coat pockets for a small flashlight and a handbook. “I kinda know my way around the sky, but it doesn’t hurt to have it handy,” she said, waving the small book.

She started to calibrate the telescope. He bowed his back against a particularly stiff breeze - this was not the kind of outing for a simple trench coat. She took off her scarf and wrapped it around his neck and head. Had it been day, he would’ve looked like a creature from a Dr. Seuss book.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, but let out a sigh of relief.

“This coat’s really warm. My neck was getting sweaty anyway.” She tugged on a multi-colored tassel. “You feel better?”

“Thanks,” he said, and walked to the telescope. “Who’s Aristarchus?”

“Only the man who posited that the Earth orbited around the sun thousands of years before Copernicus.”

“Oh,” he said. “I didn’t really pay attention to science at school.” He preferred history and literature. “Copernicus sounds vaguely familiar.”

“If you didn’t take any kind of specialty astronomy course, you wouldn’t hear about Aristarchus of Samos. That’s deep cut kinda information,” she said, looking into the finderscope. She swung the telescope up and to the left. “There you are, beautiful.”

She messed around with the focus. Now that he wasn’t bitter cold, he realized it was beautiful out there. The not so distant sound of the surf licking at the rocks below was almost comforting.

“Have you ever done any kind of stargazing?” She pulled a stainless steel thermos from the basket. The spice-scented liquid steamed into the air as she poured.

“Not at this level,” he said.

“Don’t let me deceive you with my beautiful scope and my own special place on the cliffs - I didn’t start doing this until recently.” She took a drink, and offered him the cup. He shook his head no. “And it was no philosophical thing either. Someone gave me the telescope as a parting gift. And I chose not to sell it.”

“Oh,” he said.

She smiled at him. “I found Cassiopeia. Want to take a look?”

He shrugged and leaned into the viewfinder. And gasped. The night sky was crispest black, and the stars - they had colors.

“It’s … beautiful,” he said. He didn’t know whether he was looking at the right group of stars, but they were all gorgeous.

She touched his elbow. “Do you see her glowing heart?”

He didn’t take his eyes off the viewfinder. “I don’t know. Which is it?”

She bent and put her face near his. He felt her warmth before she spoke near his ear. Her breath was scented with cinnamon.

“Let me have a look.”

He reluctantly moved aside. She looked for a second, adjusted something, and came back up. “If you liked the view before, this one will blow your pants off,” she said. She bounced lightly with the cold and rubbed her hands together.

He bowed his head. She was right. He could see everything. These stars weren’t just random pinpoints of light.

“Give us a guess. Which one’s the heart?”

He saw the loose w shape, and his eyes went from right to left. He came back up and pointed to the second star - the orange one.

“That one. That’s her heart.” He bent to give it another look, and nodded. “Oh yes.”

She touched his shoulder. “You got it,” she said. “Shedir. Isn’t she lovely?”

“Shedir?” he said, looking at her. “It has a name?”

“Of course,” she said, looking into the finderscope and moving the telescope.

“Is it named after who discovered it, like in biology?”

“Nah,” she said, making delicate adjustments. “Shedir, sad'r, means breast in Arabic,” she said, coming up to wink at him. He hugged himself. “And speaking of breasts, I think we might have a passable view of these gorgeous things.” She nodded at the telescope. He looked again, and saw a reddish cloud in an interesting shape.

“It looks like...um…” he squinted into the viewfinder. “A little bit like a heart. But it’s very faint.” He looked at her.

“It does. That’s why they call it the Heart Nebula.”

He smiled, and she took an abrupt step back. He moved quickly to grab her before she fell.

“Oops. I swear it’s not the toddy, detective,” she said, putting her hands up. “I’ve only had a nip.” His arm was still around her waist. She was so warm against him, he was almost reluctant to let go.

“Might need to do a breath test,” he said, smiling.

“And how would you do that without the breathalyzer, DI Hardy?” she said, giving him a heavy-lidded look. He let go, and she walked back to the telescope. “And right beside the Heart Nebula, there’s the Soul Nebula.”

He bent beside her, actually eager to see it. She moved out of the way, but not completely, so she pressed into his side as he looked.

“It’s just a blob,” he said, but he was fascinated.

“What is the soul anyway?” she said in his ear. “It has no shape. But it is still always connected to the heart.” Her breath tickled him, and he shivered.

She moved away. He looked up to see her pouring more toddy. “Now that the cold’s sunk in a bit, you want some?” She drank, and offered the cup. He stared at it for a couple seconds, then took a drink. His head spun, but it wasn’t the liquor. There had to be something intimate in drinking from the same cup. And it was comforting. He drained the cup and handed it back to her.

“I didn’t know astronomy held such potential romance,” he said, putting his hands in his coat pocket. “Glowing breasts. Heart and soul.”

“It’s hard to not be romantic about something so much bigger than us,” she said. “It’s a reminder that life goes on despite our pains. There’s so much more out there, if we’re courageous enough to just look beyond our noses once in awhile.”

He had not eaten dinner, so the whiskey was already seeping into his veins. He felt strange, but in a hopeful way.

“I think I should pack up before we both freeze,” she said, and started to collapse the scope. He watched her. She was not graceful, but there was beauty in the sureness of her movements.

He picked up the scope. “After you,” he said. She walked briskly down the cliffs, and for some reason, his heart sank when he saw her car. He enjoyed being on top of the world, looking at the stars with her.

She jumped inside and cranked up the heater, rubbing her hands together and chattering her teeth. “Just like all things, there’s never a true pleasure that doesn’t require a bit of sacrifice,” she said, pressing her cold-ruddy fingertips into the air vents.

They drove back home in a comfortable silence. His heart raced as she parked on the curb and turned off the engine. Should he make a move? He turned to look at her, but she was looking at her hands.

“Thanks for looking at the stars with me, DI Hardy,” she said.

“Call me Alec. Unless you prefer Hardy. Either’s alright.” He swallowed hard.

“I hope I didn’t force your good will into trailing me up those cold cliffs.”

“Not at all. It was nice. Really. I learned something new I can teach Daisy.”

“Daisy?” she said.

“My daughter. She’s off at an internship in the States right now.”

“She’s grown! Where?”

“North Carolina. She’ll be gone until May.”

“North Ca’lina’s beautiful, but nothin’ beats Texas,” she said in an American southern accent that made him giggle.

“What was that?” his voice was high.

“It’s the accent I grew up with. It took a while to get rid of it, but sometimes, when I’m angry or tipsy or having great s-” her mouth snapped shut and she shrugged. “It comes back.”

He leaned back into the window. “That’s interesting.”

“I’m an interesting woman,” she said. “We should get out of this car before we give the snooping neighbors something to talk about.” She pointed to their apartment building, where a curtain trembled shut.

He carried her telescope into her living room, and waited while she put the basket in the kitchen.

“I’d offer you a cup of tea, but it’s after 2 AM,” she said. “Although, my day off is tomorrow, so…” she walked up to him, cocking an eyebrow.

He smiled down at her. “My day starts early. But thank you, though.”

She tugged on his sleeve. “I’m so happy you came. I love this country, but it’s been lonely. Everyone is kind, but distant.”

“Good old British reserve,” he said, nodding.

“Why were you knocking on my door earlier?”

He looked away and sighed. “I, uh, wanted to apologize.”

“For what?” She grasped both of his sleeves lightly.

“For-” he cleared his throat. “-running away like that this afternoon.”

“And I’m sorry for being so presumptuous. I saw you were hurting, and I couldn’t resist.” He looked away, but he did not move. She put her hand on his cheek and moved his face to meet her gaze. “Really. _I’m_ sorry.”

He nodded. Slowly, his arm went around her waist. His rose lips parted and his eyes went an enticing shade of amber.

She took his face in her hands and kissed his temple, then moved down, slowly, to press her lips to the corner of his mouth. She felt his body react, and suppressed a smile.

“Get some rest, Hardy. And thanks again for the company.” She moved his arm gently and walked him to the door. He looked dazed.

“Would you like to maybe have dinner sometime?” he said. His voice came out squeaky, and he cleared his throat.

“I thought you’d never ask, “ she said, smiling. “I would love to. How about tomorrow evening? I’ll be well-rested and bright-eyed.”

“Okay. Sounds good,” he said. “I’ll be here at 7.”

“And I have a feeling it will be 7 sharp,” she said, leaning against the door. “I’ll be ready to go, sir.” He laughed.

She bit her lip and shrugged.“Am I wrong, though?”

“No,” he said. “Until tomorrow.”

* * *

 Ieva ripped her earphones off and started to pace her lab.

Were men that easy to manipulate? A bit of maudlin star talk and sweets and you’re in his head?

She ran her fingers through her hair, and groaned when it tangled around her fingers.

She thought of Clara, with her swollen face and vicious bruises, in a drugged stupor just downstairs. There were no stars and sweets for her. Not with Frank. Just pain. She dropped into her chair and typed quickly. The master bedroom camera came up. She lay on her side, her face painful to look at. Despite her height, she made such a small mound in that bed. She typed something else, and Hardy’s house cameras came up. He was leaning against the counter in his kitchen, drinking a cup of tea. The smallest of smiles played on his lips.

She slammed her fist on the keyboard, and the image disappeared. Frank wanted her to pump Clara for information on this guy, but now the task left an even more sour taste in her mouth. What did it matter anyway? He thought she was dead, and he moved on.

She rubbed her eyes and sighed.

Clara let out a soft mewling in her sleep that filled her with tenderness. She didn’t want to stir up memories that would only hurt her further. Clara’s face that afternoon came back to her. She was pale, but her eyes were fathomless with misery. She trembled, but the hand holding the gun had been so steady. It was chilling.

Frank was a mystery as well - a man who would have tears in his eyes and speak of love, then beat Clara mercilessly just hours later.

She knew about abusive relationships - been in several as a teenager - but something was funny about Frank and Clara. And, one way or another, she was going to find out.

* * *

A familiar, comforting smell woke her from her sleep.

She groaned. Her whole body was a roaring chorus of aches and pains. Her heart beat in her jaw.

“Good morning,” a female voice said from somewhere near by. For a split second, she allowed herself to believe that yesterday was a bad dream, but Ieva walked into her field of vision and waved bashfully.

“I brought coffee. And plenty of straws,” she said.

Clara guffawed through her swollen jaw. She tried to sit up, and fell back in agony. She really should’ve taken the painkillers. She was surprised she got any sleep without them, but exhaustion made her pass out cold. Ieva darted forward to help her, and fluffed the pillows behind her.

“Your eyes speak volumes,” she said, her voice muffled with inflammation.

“How do you mean?” she said as she moved the tray to her lap.

“I look bad, don’t I?” Clara said.

“You look _schon_ ,” Ieva said as she poured the coffee. Clara rolled her eyes. “At least, one side of your face does. Do you take cream and sugar?”

“Yes, too much of each,” she said, and watched as she poured and stirred with surprising delicacy. Ieva put a straw in the cup and held it out to her.

“Drink up. Sergei’s planned a field trip for us, apparently.”

Clara grabbed Ieva’s hand and shook her head. Ieva jumped and gently extricated herself.

“What? He mentioned something about going shopping in the city. I can let him know if you’re not in the mood.”

Clara relaxed and waved her hand. “No. It sounds fun,” she said.“Could you hand me the bottle of pills on the bedside table?” She washed two down with her coffee and sighed. “Give these a couple minutes and I’ll be just fine.”

Ieva fidgeted beside her. Clara tugged on the sleeve of her t-shirt.

“Help me out of bed. I’ve got to pee like you wouldn’t believe.”

Ieva popped up and pulled the covers from her - then turned red as she saw her robe was open.

“Oops!” she pulled it closed, but not before Ieva saw new bruises.

Ieva waited for Clara and gnawed on her thumbnail. In just three hours England time,Hardy was going to take Dal out. If what happened the night before was any indication, she was going to get Frank what he wanted. And whether it went down at Dal’s house or his, it was her job to record it in the most vivid detail to keep Clara in line-

Pain intruded into her thoughts. Her nail bed was flooded in red. She sucked off the blood and wrapped it in a tissue. Clara came out of the bathroom, brushed and beautifully scented.

“What are you still doing here?” she said. Her voice wasn’t so muffled now.

“Just in case you needed anything,” she said, shrugging. The tissue on her thumb was spotted with blood.

“Did you cut yourself?” she said, taking her hand. She looked at her thumb and chuckled. “Oh. You’re a nailbiter. Go and wash your hand before it falls off.”

She obeyed without a word. Clara walked into her closet and dropped her robe. Her skin was slashed with a purple that made Ieva forget her own discomfort.                                    

“Do you need anything?" she yelled as she dried her hand.

“Yeah.”

Ieva walked into the closet and nearly moonwalked out. She was sitting on a giant ottoman, naked to the waist and holding  a fur blanket over her breasts. Clara gave her a look of silent entreaty.

“I know you’re not into contact, but, I need-” she held up the arnica ointment. Ieva took another step back. Her good hand was a fist behind her back. Clara nodded.

“Could you call Sergei for me, then? He seems relatively safe,” she said, and winked at her.

She brought the man from the kitchen then bowed out, brow covered in sweat. Sergei warmed it between his palms before spreading it on her bruises. She held her hair up above her nape. She hissed when he touched a particularly sensitive area near her breasts.

He whispered something softly in Russian.

“What’s that?” she said. He didn’t speak it, but his tone was clear irritated.

“Nothing, madame. Just thinking aloud. Do you feel comfortable standing?”

She nodded. The bruises across her upper thighs were the ugliest. Her ass clenched as he dabbed the ointment on her skin. He felt a slight tremble at his touch with the pain.

He rose and handed her the closed jar. “Do you need further assistance dressing? It’s almost 9.”

She looked around, then nodded again. He started to go through her lingerie drawer, but she touched his wrist.

“I couldn’t wear anything tight over these bruises,” she said, pointing to her back. “I think I’m going braless today.”

He pulled out a pair of white cotton panties from a drawer near the floor and handed them to her.

“Those shouldn’t hurt too badly,” he said, and turned around modestly as she pulled them on.

He went through her closet quickly and picked out a cream-colored aran sweater and a pair of jeans.

“I’d prefer a skirt, Sergei. Less friction.”

He shook his head. “You’ll need to wear pants and boots today, madame. I apologize.”

She took the clothes with a sigh, and as she tried to put on the sweater, it fell from her outstretched arms. He grabbed it and gently pulled the sweater over her head. He was nearly a head shorter than her, and her breasts were so close that his breath warmed her skin. Her nipples peaked with the intimacy. His blue eyes remained impassive as he helped her into her jeans and a pair of thick wool socks.

Clara smiled. “I haven’t been dressed like this since I was a little girl. My dad was obsessive about layers,” she said. “He’d wrap me up in those awful, stiff snow suits that made it hard to move, put on two pairs of socks, snowboots, gloves, and a giant hat. By the end of it, I was too exhausted to go out.”

He helped her into some knee-high leather boots. “In Russia, snowgear wears us,” he said with a straight face.

“Was that a joke?”

“I cannot confirm or deny,” he said, but he was suppressing a smile. “My batya didn’t feel the cold. He threw me out into the snow as a boy. To build character.”

“Really?” she said. “Naw.”

“No,” he said, tying her bootlaces. “He was too gentle for his own good.”

He helped her to standing. “Are you in too much pain, madame?”

“No. I took something. I should be okay.”

“Good,” he said, giving her a nod and doing a crisp aboutface out of her closet. “It’s 10 minutes to 9. Wear something warm but lightweight - no fur.” Then he disappeared.

She played around with her jewelry drawers, but she was deep in thought.

_Too gentle for his own good._

Her father was a humble man - not too smart - but kind. But he sold weed and pills. She had judged him harshly for it, since she thought Frank was a noble doctor, but look how things had turned out? It was a cruel hypocrisy. She chose a hammered gold cuff and put it on. Frank had threatened to kill him, so it meant that he is still alive in prison. She had occasionally written him a letter, even while she was with Alec, but now, it would be foolish. Frank knew everything. He would assume she was trying to warn him, and possibly kill him anyway.

Alec muscled his way into her thoughts, and her pain grew exponentially. She realized she was clenching her jaw. She definitely couldn’t contact him. Despite the danger, it might do him more harm than good emotionally. And she didn’t want to damage him further. She hooked on a pair of matching earrings, then looked in the mirror. Her reflection wobbled through her tears.

_Has he moved on? How could he not? He’s a treasure, the kindest man I’ve ever known. After what I did, I hope she’s ten times the woman I am-_

She let out a wheezy sob, and collapsed on the ottoman, her aching face in her arms. Her sobs wracked her whole body. Why didn’t she just let Frank drag her away, kicking and screaming? It was because she loved Alec, and she didn’t want Frank to hurt him. And, detective inspector or not, he could. And he would’ve, if she hesitated.

A hand on her shoulder made her jump. Sergei.

“Will you be joining us, madame?” he said. He already wore a bright blue parka and a pair of leather gloves.

She sniffled, and he helped her up. “Yes. Of course. Just let me get my coat-” her chest contracted in another sob. He chose a cream down jacket and helped her into it, pulling her arms through the sleeves like a child’s.

They walked out together, and there was a small bouquet of white freesia and pink roses sitting on the table on the foyer. He handed them to her.

“We should get going. The sun gets too high and the melting snow will be a bother,” he said. She nodded, her eyes drying quickly. He helped her to the car, where again, Ieva waited. She still thought that they were headed to the shops.

Ieva sensed an intense vibe.

“It’s been a long time since I went shopping,” she said.

Sergei’s eyes found her’s in the rearview. “We are not going shopping.”

She tensed and looked at Clara. She held the flowers close to her chest, but she didn’t look frightened.

“Why did you say we were?”

“Can I see your mobile?” he said blandly. Ieva handed it to him. He gave it a cursory look, pushed it out the driver’s side window, then drove off.

“Why did you just do that?!”

Again, Sergei found her eyes in the rearview. “Safety.”


	9. Act Five, Part 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara is both comforted and mystified by Ieva's sudden familiarity. In England, Atia has Hardy in the palm of her hand. Tess comes across something huge in her personal research on the Lazone case.

Sergei turned into a snow-boggy side road. The Mercedes, a trusty diesel equipped with snow tires, maneuvered through the slush with ease. Ieva sat back. Clara’s face was ashy with dried tears. The bump in her jaw had gone down a bit, but it still looked painful.

“Where are we going?” she said to Clara.

“I don’t know.”

“Then why are you so calm?” Ieva said, leaning closer to her.

“Because I have a good idea.”

The car stopped, and they were surrounded by silence. Sergei popped the trunk and got out. He grabbed a knapsack and then opened Clara’s door.

“Watch your step. The melt is worse than it was yesterday,” he said. He handed Clara a long, gnarled stick. “This will help.”

Ieva pulled up her hood and followed them. She only knew Sergei as the silent but efficient butler, but she was sure Clara wouldn’t follow him blindly if he meant her any harm.

_She followed Frank, though._

Fear made her stop. Sergei looked back, although Clara moved forward, eyes on the ground.

“Come on,” he said, “We’re almost there.”

She thought of running back to the car, starting it up and- Most engines were computerized these days, and Sergei trashed her mobile. Shit.

“Ieva, we’re going to Jan.” Clara’s voice was hoarse with weeping. “Chill.”

“Oh,” she said, nodding quickly. “Fuck.”

They walked to a small clearing surrounded by winter-bare birch trees. In the middle, there was a small locked shed.

“She’s in there, madame. Please understand why I will not open it, but she is safe from scavengers and rot until I can figure out what to do.”

Clara put the flowers against the door and knelt in front of it.

He stood beside her. “She was good. She was orphaned when she was a tiny girl, but the people who took her in did not care for her. Used her in...ugly ways,” his jaw tightened. “But you were kind to her, and she loved you, very much.” He nodded at her. “She was happy.”

Ieva’s heart contracted. An ill-used orphan? Her throat felt full of cotton. She leaned against a birch, putting her cheek against the cold trunk to calm her thoughts. She was Jan. Jan was her, if she hadn’t discovered hacking, and found her calling. Her stomach churned.

“I’m so sorry, Janina, so, so sorry,” Clara said, putting her head against the frost-covered door.

“Please,” Sergei said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “You’ll get hurt.”

She sank lower to the ground. “No, Sergei. It’s the people who dare to love me who get hurt.”

He tried to pull her up so the slushy snow wouldn’t seep through her pants, but she was heavy with sorrow.

“Every single person. My mother, my father. So many friends, who I pushed away without an explanation because of Frank. New, better loves. Alec.” She crumpled into the door, limp with misery. “Everyone is gone, but Frank. He remains, like in the poem with the desert and the monument of stone. I will not shake him. Ever.”

Sergei took something from the knapsack - a thermos. He poured and handed it to her.

“Are you talking about [Ozymandias](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46565/ozymandias)?” he said. He would not aid and abet her self-pity. She took a sip of the strong tea, then tried to hand it back. He shook his head and tipped his hand over his mouth. _Drink it all_. She did.

“Yes,” she said finally. “That poem.”

“My father spoke four languages. English was one of them, and he loved the English poets. Especially the Romantics. He knew Shelley well.”

“What did he do?” Ieva asked from her tree.

“Government worker,” he said, and poured tea for her. She took it gratefully. “Psychologist.”

“Really?” Ieva said. “My father was a pediatrician.”

Clara looked up at Ieva. “Your father was a doctor?” she said.

“Yes. In Zurich. He had a successful practice - nothing huge, but we lived very comfortably. He and my mother were murdered when I was 11. My home was burned to the ground. Gladly, I was in school.”

Sergei gave her a long look, then walked to the edge of the clearing. “I brought sandwiches, but they are in another bag. I will be right back.” He disappeared down the slushy path.

Ieva held out her hand. “Come on. You’ll get the flu if you stay in the mud,” she said. Clara took it and stood up, groaning at her stiff muscles.

“Why did they burn the house too?” she asked, wiping her face.

“To destroy everything we had. There was art. Books. Valuable things. And possibly, me. But something pushed the timeline, because they did not make sure that I was home. The windows and doors had been sealed to make sure that anyone who was in the house could not leave it once the fire started.”

“Did they ever find who did it?”

Ieva sat down on a pile of damp rocks. The snow had melted off them long ago, and clump of winter-burned moss clung to them, wetting her pants.

“The police were baffled and mystified,” she said, making air quotes. “But they found me a suitable guardian double quick.” Her mouth twisted tellingly.

“Oh,” she said. She didn’t want to pry further.

“I was not safe there. I tried to tell the social worker, but he wouldn’t listen. He quit, and the lady who replaced was no more sympathetic. She quit too.”

“Pretty high turnaround for social workers in Zurich,” Clara said.

“Especially ones that had anything to do with my case,” Ieva said. “I was stuck with those people until I was seventeen. Six years. But I got out.”

“Did you age out?” she said. She didn’t know the laws in Germany.

“No. I left. And I made it so they would not follow,” Ieva said, squinting into the distance.

Clara patted her hand, which had turned to fist on her lap. Ieva relaxed.

“Did any more doctors die in Zurich besides your parents?” Clara asked.

“Before, yes. But not after.” The statement hung in the air.

“Why are you here?” Clara asked.

"Because I thought we were going shopping. My clothes is so old it’s falling off my body.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Clara said. “Why are you here, in Belarus? In the house. Working for Frank?”

She stood up and brushed off her butt. “Because he was the highest bidder for my services,” she said. “Why are you here?”

“Because I belong to him, and I don’t have a choice,” she said.

“You belong to yourself,” she said.

“Easy for you to say,” Clara said. “What do you know about my life?”

“All sorts of things. Your grades in school. The police reports accusing your father of child trafficking. Extracurricular activities. Your entrance essay into college. The miscarriage. Your father.”

Clara popped up. “Jesus!” She paced back and forth. “How dare you dig so deeply into what isn’t your-”

Ieva cut her off “-it’s my job to know as much as I can about my client. I would be a fool if I didn’t dox them. For safety reasons.”

“I’m not your client!” she yelled, pointing at her chest. “Frank is. Why didn’t you go digging around in his shit?”

“I did. And you’re buried the deepest in all of it,” Ieva said bluntly.

Tears fell down her face, but she didn’t weep. She was exhausted. “My father and I were just fine before Frank came along. He wasn’t the jerk I convinced myself he was. He did the best he could for me.”

“He let Frank in,” Ieva said.

“If you haven’t noticed, Frank is a smooth talker. Handsome. Clever. Dad was just as dazzled as I was that a man like that gave us the time of day. We both fell for it. Hard.”

“But what about the gifts? The intense attention? He didn’t notice?”

“Yes, he did. A couple times he threatened to stop doing business with him, but that wouldn’t have worked. Frank would’ve killed him, and taken me away. I knew that, even then, so I convinced Dad that he was harmless. I swore he didn’t have bad intentions. He believed me, since if I was being molested, wouldn’t I trust him enough to say? It was a flawed logic, though. Frank did take my innocence. But he was so deep in my head I was convinced I wanted it.”

“You said Frank was just driving by when he found your father and made him an offer. Have you ever wondered why he picked him?”

Clara sighed. “I don’t know. Bad fucking luck?”

Ieva bit her lip. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Sergei came back with the bag of sandwiches. “I brought you something soft to eat as well, madame,” he said.

“What do you mean, maybe not?” Clara said, not caring if Sergei heard their conversation.

Ieva grabbed the bag and dug in it for something good. She came back up with a crusty baguette with parma ham, brie, and fig jam.

“It was mighty convenient that an obvious sexual predator would offer a simple man with a prepubescent girl the drug deal of a lifetime,” she said, biting into it.

Sergei opened a plastic tub filled with mashed red potatoes, buttery and speckled with finely chopped chive. She pushed it away gently and tugged at Ieva’s hood.

“You’re saying he … chose dad?” she said.

“Madame, you haven’t eaten since noon yesterday. Please.” He held out the tub. The potatoes were still hot.

“Maybe. In fact, the more I think about it, the more obvious it looks,” Ieva said. She opened the thermos and drank.

Clara lost strength in her legs. Sergei noticed, and held her firmly.

“You’re tired. I think it’s time to say goodbye to Janina and go home,” he said, patting her hand.

“Yes,” she said. He guided her back to the shed. She pressed her gloved hand against the door.

“Janina, for the short time we were together, I was so happy. You reminded me of the daughter I might’ve had. Despite the ugly circumstances, you were vivacious, funny, beautiful, and best of all, kind. You deserved so much better than this. Than me. And I am sorry-” she swallowed a sob,  “-I’m sorry that I could not do better by you. I’m so sorry.”

She went lax in Sergei’s arms, weeping softly.

“I’m taking you back,” he said.

Ieva slapped her hands together, already done with her sandwich. “I’m freezing my nips off out here. Let’s go.” She started down the path in front of them.

It was less than a half hour to Hardy's date.

* * *

Sergei helped Clara out of her wet, muddy clothes and guided her into the bathroom.

“Would you like something for the pain?” he asked through the door.

“Yes, please,” she said. He went to the kitchen to get a bottle of water, and returned to her crawling into bed. He handed her two pills.

“Thank you, Sergei. For everything.” She squeezed the hand with the pills in it. She swallowed them down and put the bottle on the bedside table.

“Rest,” he said. He drew the curtains, and the room was dark. “I will wake you for dinner.”

 

* * *

 Ieva yawned as she dug in her bureau for her spare mobile. A part of her hoped her phone landed somewhere dry when Sergei threw it, but once they came back, it had been three inches deep in a muddy puddle. She walked into her lab and connected it to a charger while preparing herself for the show. She watched both Hardy and Dal's cam feeds.

Hardy stepped out of his bathroom, with wet hair and a towel around his narrow hips. He was washing thoroughly for the hooker, she thought, and yawned again. The irony.

Dal was was nude save for a suspenders and stockings in front of her bedroom mirror. Although she wasn’t into blondes, she looked good enough to eat.

“You’re good,” she said out loud at the screen as the woman sprayed perfume in the air in front of her and walked through it. “He’s fucked.”

Ieva giggled. He _is_ fucked. Regardless. All the way fucked- A jaw-cracking yawn made her head snap back. She stretched and leaned back in her work chair. She was used to lack of sleep, but the last couple of days were a killer.

“Red bull, I need you,” she said, but the chair was comfy as a womb and she didn’t want to get it. In any case, just as soon as the show started, it would keep her on the edge of her seat.

Dal put on a red dress. It had sleeves and a high neck, but it fit her better than a second skin.

Ieva whooped, then made a face. It wasn’t like her.

Hardy was on his bed, pulling on a pair of pants.

“You’re screwed, buddy. Who can resist that ass,” she said, pointing at Dal’s screen. She yawned again. Her eyelids were getting heavier and heavier.

She hit the record button on her keyboard, just be to sure. Even if she did have a quick nap, the feeds would be saved for later viewing. Her limbs were pleasantly loose, and her head had that light, foggy feeling that preceded the best sleep. She pulled her legs up and sighed. Maybe she would take a nice nap. Everything was going according to plan - Frank would get what he requested, and maybe he would get out of her hair so she could do what she went there to do.

She yawned, and pulled her hood over her eyes.

Forty winks. A power nap.

She nodded off.

* * *

He looked at his watch and waited by the fusebox in the basement.

Even for the largest person, it only took a maximum of 20 minutes for the drug to take effect. It had been a half hour. He flipped the main power switch, and everything was dark. He ran up the stairs, through the kitchen, and up the next flight of stairs. The house was quiet.

He ran into the Ieva’s work room with confidence - she was out cold in her work chair. The screens were still on, since Frank made sure that the computers had an independent power source. A man and a woman dressed on the screens.

He adjusted his balaclava to make sure nothing showed. Although the computers were still recording, the house cameras had no power. But he didn’t want to take any risks. He plugged a jump drive into one of the servers and typed quickly. Photos and files popped up at the corner of a screen quicker than the eye could see. They were public domain now. He hoped that the right people were looking.

His stopwatch beeped. He only had three minutes to do what he had to do without drawing suspicion, since there were often short outages this far out in the country during the winter. Especially this winter.  He erased his presence from the computer and pulled the jump drive. As ever, he would burn it in the Aga.

Ieva snored loudly. He ran back downstairs and flipped the switch.

By the time the staff were back from a shopping run, there was no evidence anything had ever occurred.

* * *

Hardy breathed deeply as he looked at himself in the mirror. It was the same old him, albeit with a new tie.

His hair was too combed. He ran his fingers through it, rendering it a nest of soft spikes that he smoothed down to a decent state. It would have to do. He mulled whether to shave his scruff, and decided against it. First, he didn’t want a stinging face during the date. Secondly and more importantly, she seemed to like it. He didn’t want to ruin whatever it was that was making such a beautiful woman be interested-

_-Clara was interested. You were nearly dead, but she’d seen you-_

He shook the thought from his head and straightened up. She was interested, but not enough to tell him the truth. Not enough to trust him completely. Not enough to stay.

His phone beeped.

**7 to 7 and I’m already rearing to go. Just FYI.**

He smiled. He had barely been able to concentrate on work the whole day. Elliot noticed, but was wise enough not to comment when he announced he was going home on time. He bought flowers and a good bottle of wine on the way home. The flowers were for her. The wine was for them both. For after. Just in case.

He observed his flustered reflection in the mirror. He was on the wrong side of forty, but sex still made him blush. And Atia was beautiful. He had learned a lot-

_-Clara had taught him a lot, and she was eager but patient -_

He let out a grunt and walked into the kitchen. The bright yellow and purple blooms already drooped over the lip of the vase. They were top heavy, with plentiful petals and an intoxicating scent. He fingered a stalk of small purple flowers. The florist offered him a dozen red roses, but it felt too soon for that. These flowers looked more ... interesting.

The bottle of red wine sat beside the flowers. The label was embossed with gold and maroon, written in Italian. He didn’t have much a taste for the fancier stuff before-

_-not before Clara showed him, refined his taste-_

His phone alarm buzzed in his pocket. 7 o clock. It was time.

He looked out the window, but was distracted by the empty sill. His chest contracted. A sob tried to work his way up his throat, but he swallowed it. Not tonight. Not anymore.

Atia was waiting.

He grabbed his coat and jogged down the stairs. He didn’t have to will himself to smile.

* * *

Ieva woke herself with her own snore.

She rubbed her eyes, then looked at the window. Daylight had faded to night. She stretched and looked around the room with the owlish gaze of the recently roused.

Hardy and Atia!

She jumped out of her seat - her knees creaked, she needed to start running again - and typed something on the console. Their apartments were both empty, but she had hacked a connection to his cell mic and camera. She expected to hear clinking glass and the background noise to a restaurant, but instead, there was nothing. Not a thing.

“Don’t tell me-” she typed something else, and she saw whatever the cameras were facing. There was darkness, but on the front facing camera, there was a dark blue of a car interior. “Fuck!”

She punched the table. How could a detective leave his phone in the car at all? There had to be some kind of rule against it. She looked at her own phone, but there were no messages. She was surprised Frank hadn’t tried to reach her for an explanation.

Perhaps he knew it was something she couldn’t control.

She did some stretches to chase the sleep from her limbs, but her head still felt fuzzy. Like she drank too much. Maybe the little field trip had emotionally exhausted her. She thought of Clara. She was weak with misery. She typed, and Clara’s bedroom camera showed up on the screen. She was still sleeping, face up. Little snores bubbled from her open mouth. It was cute.

Ieva’s mouth was bone dry. Her whole face felt like it would crack into pieces if she smiled. She walked across the hall to her bathroom and washed the sleep from her eyes. As she toweled off, she heard muffled words, then moaning. 

She ran back and Clara was shivering on the screen, her face a rictus of pain. Without thinking, she ran down the steps and into her bedroom. She was curled up in the middle of the bed, crying.

She approached the bed slowly. “Clara? Are you alright?”

Clara tried to sit up, but couldn’t. Ieva sat on the edge of the bed and held out her hand.

“Was I crying in my sleep?” she said. She wiped her face and sighed. “Yeah.”

“I heard you from the hallway,” Ieva said. She didn’t know why she lied.

“It was just a dream,” she said. Clara’s tongue felt like it was carpeted.

“A nightmare?” Ieva said.

Clara shook her head. “No. Not really. A good dream that I didn’t want to wake from.”

“Oh,” she said, “about Hardy?”

Clara hiccuped. “Yeah.”

Ieva nodded, and thought of what he might be up to at this very moment. It made her hurt for Clara.

“That sucks.”

“It’s alright. It was more a memory than a dream. Like, emotional purging. I hope.” Her eyes were brimmed with tears. Yet, Clara smiled and raised her eyebrow at her.

“What?”

She looked down. They were still holding hands.

Ieva withdrew, but slowly. “It’s been a difficult few days. I guess I needed the contact.”

“Me too,” Clara said. “We can keep holding hands, if you want.”

Ieva shrugged. It had been over two years since she had human contact besides an occasional handshake, or a punch. And sex? Even longer. But she liked holding Clara’s hand.

Clara patted the bed beside her. “Come here.”

Ieva moved beside her. Clara held out her hand, and she surprised herself by taking it, and squeezing. They sat in silence.

“It’s nice,” Clara said, after a couple minutes.

“Yes,” Ieva said, nodding. “Wait, what is?”

“This. To have a friend.” Clara lifted her hand to her lips and kissed it. “It’s lonely here. But I was lonely before this. I’ve been lonely all my life. You’d think I’d be good at it by now.”

“A friend,” she said. Her heart fluttered. A friend. _A friend_. “Why?”

“Before Frank, it was the fact my dad and I moved around all the time. After Frank, it was just that. Frank is everything. I can’t have friends. A normal life. It’s just him.”

Ieva sighed. “I get it. I was a hermit when I was a teen. Even in that ... home.”

Clara leaned against her. “You’re a hermit now.” She poked her side.

“I like it. I can move around without worrying about goodbyes.”

Clara put her head on Ieva’s shoulder.

She stiffened, and Clara moved. “I’m sorry. Too familiar.”

Ieva shook her head. “It’s not you. I’m just rusty at the contact. You can do it.”

“Thank you,” she said. She groaned softly. “My jaw still hurts like fuck.”

“Do you need anything?” Ieva said. There was the bottle of pills on the night table.

“No. I still feel woozy from this morning,” she said.

Ieva squeezed her hand.

“Funny how dreams can feel more real than reality,” Clara said out of the blue.

“I wouldn’t really know. I don’t dream.” Mercifully.

“Never?”

“I can’t remember if I did when I was young, but I don’t now, so…”

Clara lifted her head. “It was our second date. Alec and I-” she shook her head.

“What?” Ieva said.

“I don’t want to be that person who bores you with talk of a dead past.”

“It’s not dead to you,” Ieva said. “And also, it’s not like we’re two old ladies, reminiscing about our lovers before Weldkrieg,” she said. “It hasn’t been a year, right?”

“Nearly nine months,” Clara said. “But it feels like a century.”

“Being in the middle of nowhere doesn’t help.”

“No,” she said. “But at least I’m not working. I pray it’s because I’m finally too old and ugly for Frank. He just hasn’t admitted it to himself yet.”

“Old and ugly? I don’t think so, frau,” she said.

Clara gave her a smile that made her want to bounce through the roof. “You don’t know Frank’s clientele,” she said. “I aged out two decades ago.”

Ieva shivered with revulsion. She wanted to change the subject.

“Tell me more about your dream - if you like,” she said.

She laced her fingers through Ieva’s. “Where was I?”

“Second date,” Ieva said.

“Right! Anyway, we had already had an ‘encounter’-”

“-Encounter?” Ieva interrupted.

Clara bit her lip. “Can I be open? I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“I’m a grown woman. You can be as open as you like.”

“It’s just, some lesbians don’t like hearing about hetero ... stuff.”

Ieva laughed. “Oh my God, that’s dumb. Dick isn’t the devil. I just don’t prefer it.”

“Okay, okay,” Clara said. “We kinda, already tasted each other-”

“Oooh,” Ieva said. Clara slapped her shoulder playfully.

“It was after our first date-” Ieva was about to interrupt her again, but she held her hand up”-and I know it’s quick, but it felt right. He felt right.” Her eyes widened. “He was amazing.”

Ieva thought about the man she’d been observing for the last month and a half, and she couldn’t see it.

“You’re grown. You can do whatever you like. Lesbians are famed for moving lightning quick.”

Clara smiled. “I know what lesbians do,” she said. Ieva sweat through her shirt.

“Second date?” Ieva said. Her voice squeaked.

“So, second date. We’re supposed to go see some Tennessee Williams-”

“Tennessee Williams?” Ieva said.

“American playwright. Wrote _A Streetcar Named Desire_?”

“Da.”

“We weren’t gonna watch that play thought. It was Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.”

“The one with the Elizabeth Taylor movie?”

“Exactly.”

“She was beautiful, wasn’t she? I was a fan as a kid, but I didn’t know it wasn’t just because of her talent yet,” Ieva said.

“Yes!” Clara said. “That happened to me with Marilyn Monroe. I saw her jiggling on _Seven Year Itch_ and didn’t know what to do with myself. Well, I did know, but I wouldn’t admit it to myself for a while.”

“Naughty,” Ieva said. “So you really are bi?”

“Yes. Since I was a girl. Frank took advantage, though.”

She didn’t want to ruin the moment by talking about Frank.

“I don’t think we’re ever gonna get to the story,” Ieva said.

“We were supposed to see the play,” Clara said, “but I wondered whether we would make it out of my apartment.”

“It was like that?” Ieva said, giggling.

“Oh yeah,” Clara said. “I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He had me bumping into walls. We talked on the phone, and anything would set me off, so I would cut the conversation short-”

“-but you already did it?” Ieva said.

“No. We had done everything but.”

“Okay. So?”

“He comes, looking so beautifully shy with this giant bouquet. I invited him in - I still remember the way his aftershave made me shiver - and went to the kitchen to put the flowers in water. I could feel his eyes on me. I wanted him to touch me-”

“Is this story about to get pornographic?” Ieva asked.

Clara smiled. “No. We didn’t sleep together that night. We didn’t go to the play, but it was because we talked. All night, until we fell asleep in each other’s arms.”

“Awwww,” Ieva said.

“He told me about his youth, who he was before Sandbrook-”

“Sandbrook?” She knew all about it, but she asked anyway.

“It’s the town in England where he was working at the time. A girl was killed. It was ugly.”

“Wow,” Ieva said. “I’m sorry for interrupting so much.”

“I don’t mind. We’re getting to know each other.” She patted her hand. “Before midnight, we were in bed. Fully dressed, but our defenses were low after a couple glasses of wine. Then, he told me about his mother.”

Ieva groaned.

Clara laughed. “What?”

“So he has a beautiful woman in bed, and he talks about his mother?”

Clara shrugged. “It wasn’t like that. It’s … complicated. And really sad.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It made me cry for him.”

Sergei opened the door and peeked inside. “Did you have a restful sleep, madame?”

“Yes, Sergei,” Clara said. “Could you bring us some water, and a snack?”

“What would you like?”

“Do we have any of that strawberry mousse left from lunch yesterday?”

“Of course.” He walked out.

“Anyway, that’s why I was crying. It’s like I was there, experiencing it again. I felt everything.” She hugged herself. “I knew then that I loved him. It was crystal clear to me. I could taste it.”

“What does new love taste like?” Ieva said. She didn’t want her to start crying again.

Clara smiled. “Like sweet chili.” She stuck her tongue out at her. “Nice, but it burns.”

“That’s really specific.”

“My dad said it was why Mexicans are so happy. They eat love every day.”

“Your dad is Mexican?”

“Si. Like, the beautiful indigenous kind, but his eyes are hazel. My mom wasn’t though, so I didn’t get his genes.”

“You never met your mother?”

“No. She died when I was born. I remember seeing some photos when I was really small, but they were lost. She was really beautiful.”

“I can see that,” Ieva said without thinking.

Clara slapped her arm. “Dad says I got her bone structure. That’s why I’m so much taller than him.”

“Your mom was an Amazon?”

“Maybe,” Clara said. “Dad says she was even taller than me, so that makes her six foot.”

“Fuck!” Ieva said.

“I know,” Clara said, smiling.

Sergei walked in with a tray and put it on the bedside table by the wilting ranunculi. “Would you like me to remove the flowers?”

“No!” Clara said, a bit louder than she meant to. “No.”

“Very well. Dinner will be ready in a half hour. Lamb chops, moroccan couscous, and vegetables.”

“Thank you,” she said. He disappeared.

“What’s with the flowers?” Ieva said. Clara plucked a marigold one from the bouquet and kissed it.

“They make me feel safe. Like I’m part of the human race again,” she said, then tucked it between her breasts. “Although, your kindness has helped too.”

She took Ieva’s injured hand. “How’s it feeling?”

“Alright. Still sore, but no swelling.”

“Lucky it was so clean,” Clara said, searching Ieva’s face. Her hair stood on end. Frank was right. She was clever.

“Lucky it was winter,” Ieva said, tucking her hand underneath her arm. “And you were here to help.”

“I don’t feel much help to anyone right now,” she said, leaning over her to grab the bowl of mousse on the tray. It was decorated with a cut and fanned strawberry. “Would you like to try it?”

Ieva shrugged. Clara spooned some out and fed it to her. She couldn’t help but stare at Clara as the fluffy sweetness melted on her tongue.

“Isn’t it yummy? I don’t even know where he found proper strawberries here in February, but this is not out of a box,” she said, and ate a mouthful with the same spoon. She mmm’d. It was nice that she wasn’t averse to her... mouth. And the familiarity warmed her.

“Want some more?” she asked, holding up the spoon.

Ieva nodded. They alternated spoonfuls until the bowl was empty, then used their fingers to clean it.

“That was wunderbar,” Ieva said, leaning against the headboard.

“I love that word. ‘Wunderbar’. It sounds so much cooler than ‘wonderful.’”

“I’ll give you that. But most German doesn’t sound so nice.”

“It’s nice,” Clara said weakly.

Ieva giggled. “It sounds like a machine dying. And there’s too many syllables. But it’s still music to my ears when I hear it.”

“Did you come here directly from Germany?” Clara asked.

“No. I move around a lot. I haven’t been to Germany in over five years.”

“That’s awful. I haven’t been to the States in over three.”

“Do you miss it?”

Clara mulled. “Not really. Too many bad memories. Be right back. Gotta wee.” She crawled out of bed and limped to the bathroom.

Ieva lay back into the pillows and smiled. She started to hum Pretty Woman by Roy Orbison softly. Clara limped back with a dour expression on her face.

Ieva jumped out of bed and to her side. “Are you okay?”

“Not really. These bruises are killing me. They feel worse today than they did when I got ‘em.”

You mean, when Frank gave them to you, she thought. She guided her back to the bed, but Clara didn’t lie down.

“Could you call Sergei? I think I need another dose of arnica.”

She looked toward the door, then bit her lip. “I can do it.”

“You don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“We just held hands in bed and fed each other mousse. I think I’ll be alright.”

“Good,” Clara said, and lifted her top. The bruises made Ieva’s stomach turn. “Jar is on the vanity.” She ghosted her fingers along the ugly red and purple blooming on her back. Clara turned to look at her. “Okay?”

“Yes,” she said, and began to apply the ointment. She hissed whenever she went over a particularly vicious looking bit.

“You’re complaining more than I am,” Clara said.

“You’re not complaining at all. Does it hurt?”

“A lot,” she said. Ieva treated her lower back. There, she couldn’t help moaning as she pressed into a bruise near her spine.

“Can I ask you something?” Ieva said.

“Sure.”

“Is Frank always like this with you?” she said.

Clara breathed deep. “It’s not usually so bad. He’s been stressed out.”

Her finger dipped below the waist of Clara’s silk pyjama pants, following a bruise. Clara lowered them past her hips. Ieva flushed, but the bruises on her bum made her feel far from sexual. Ieva began to spread the ointment on her backside.

“So he beat you, always?”

“It’s discipline,” Clara said. “It happened much less when I was younger, but it was because I couldn’t be this battered for the cameras. Now, it’s not a concern.”

Ieva dabbed ointment on the back of Clara’s thighs.

“Did you like it, ever? The videos?” Ieva said. She winced at her words. It was too soon, she was sure of it.

Clara hugged the pillow. “I wanted to please him. But no, I can’t say I really liked it. I like girls - women - but it’s not natural, what he wanted. I felt ugly after. Like a monster.”

“So he made you do it?”

“Yes,” she said simply. “I never wanted to hurt those girls. In the beginning, I refused to talk them into it, but he-” she hiccuped with a sob. Ieva went to her, but Clara gently waved her away. “I’ll be fine. Please finish with the ointment.”

Ieva worked in silence for a minute. Even covered with bruises, her thighs were delicious. She shook the thought from her head.

“What did he do?” Ieva said, trying to get her mind out of the gutter.

“What he always does. Threaten my father. I went to the police, but I learned early he has friends in high places.”

“He hurt you?” Ieva was done, so she gently lifted the pants to her waist. Her thumbs grazed Clara’s hips, and she shivered.

“He didn’t hurt me, but he did worse - he hurt my father. Sent his goons disguised as tweakers to beat him up. My dad spent three days in the hospital, which Frank graciously paid for, of course. But it was a warning. After that, I did what he said.”

“But you love him?”

Clara sat up. “I think it’s been 20 minutes, right? We should wash up for dinner,” she said, walking into her closet.

Ieva resisted the urge to slap herself.

“Okay. I’ll see you in the dining room.”

She ran up the stairs two at a time. In the workroom, all screens were still empty - they must still be out on their date. His phone still lay in the passenger’s seat of his car. She dragged and dropped the feeds into her phone, requested the program send her a text when the cameras sensed movement, and went back downstairs.

* * *

Clara waited until Ieva left, then sat heavily on the ottoman. Pain shot to her brain, but it was the least of her worries.

Ieva wasn’t only eager to be a friend, but she was touching her. Openly. She hadn’t even minded touching her ass. It had to be Frank’s doing. After yesterday, any sane woman would run screaming, but she was still here, playing besties with her.

A tear dripped off her chin.

Even if it was Frank’s doing, it felt good to not be alone. She thought of Jan, and her glorious smiles and childish sense of humor. She didn’t deserve what happened to her. Frank was a plague.

The tears turned to sobs.

Why did he have to do this to her? Make her distrust her own instincts, be terrified to care because it could all be just another game?

As much as she wanted to, there was no way she could trust Ieva with her real thoughts. She was on Frank’s payroll. She couldn’t possibly be sincere. But there had to be a reason why Frank would go from murderous to magnanimous so quickly. A really good reason. Did Ieva have something on him? Or did he want Ieva to get something out of her?

She thought on Ieva’s slim frame, and her honey colored hair. Frank knew her too well.

Her jaw throbbed as she bit back her tears. She stood and plucked a red polka dot dress from its hanger and put it on. She went to grab a pair of panties, then decided against it. She smoothed the soft fabric over her curves, then walked to the vanity to accentuate the good.

He wanted to play? Fine. She’d twist it around on him this time.

* * *

 Tess was working on a packet of crisps and when her computer beeped in the other room.

She got up and stretched, then walked to the kitchen, where her laptop sat on the table. She poured herself another glass of white - perfect with bacon and cheese crisps - and looked at the dark screen. She was in no particular hurry, since she usually had at least 12 different alerts on simultaneously, depending on her case load.

She took a sip of wine. It had been a good day. Daiz had called, and actually been eager to ask for her advice. There was trouble in paradise with her and Finola.

She crunched on another chip. She told her to be open and honest, and see what happens. What she didn’t mention was that the policy rarely worked on young women. Oops. Guilt began to gnaw at the edges of her consciousness, but she pushed it away with another sip of wine. The fact is, she resented Finola. Daisy had gone halfway across the world to follow her, and then, by what Daisy said, she was beginning to get distant and openly flirt with other women … and men.

Pfft. The homely little thing should be glad that Daisy had even given her the time of day.

She sighed and took her laptop off sleep mode, then clicked on her alerts program, expecting nothing more than random Facebook entries, or a misconstrued Tweet. Her eyes widened as she scrolled through the photos.

“Fuck.” It came out soft, but she screamed it in her head. “I can’t believe-”

She stood up so quickly the wineglass tipped to the floor. She didn’t even hear the crash as she rushed to dial Hardy. It rang in her ear, once, twice, three times… then kept ringing. He rarely let it ring more than twice unless he was away from his phone. And his cell was never far from him - even when he showered.

“Galloping bollocks of fire!”

She ran back to the kitchen, and glass crunched underneath her toes.

“Shit!” She slapped her thighs and threw herself into a chair to check for injury. Miraculously, the goblet had not shattered into tiny pieces, so the glass just brushed off. There was no blood. She slid on the garden shoes by the back door and stared at the screen again.

Could it be? After almost a year of dead ends, she might’ve actually found something. And it was huge. She dialed Hardy again, and again, it rang and rang.

“What the fuck are you doing, you twat?” she whispered. She scrolled down, and there were also audio files and transcripts. Before even clicking on it, she downloaded everything. The way things had gone for the last year, the files might disappear at any moment. She wriggled in her seat as the green bar moved toward 100%. Just as soon as it was in her computer, she dragged and dropped it into a jump drive and checked for viruses. They were clean as a whistle.

She exhaled, and her eyes turned to slits. It was too easy. Was it some kind of game? A false lead?

She put on earbuds and clicked on the first file.

“Today is your most fortunate day,” a man’s voice said in a heavy eastern european accent.

“Quit dicking around. Have you found a good crop?”

“The finest rosebuds from Ta’if. Not yet open, yet ripe for the picking.

The man with the american accent groaned. “Do I have to send pickers, or will they be delivered?”

“They wait on your order and are ready to move. My suggestion is you come to select the tenderest buds. They make the best perfume. They’re strong too - they will last a while.”

The conversation was obviously coded, but it still made her skin crawl. There were tens of what she assumed were similar conversations on the download. Now, she regretted the drink. Her head was fuzzy, despite the excitement that made her hands tremble.

She checked her cell again. No callback. She would have to use their old emergency phrase. She texted him, and set the phone down by the computer. He would be calling back very soon.

* * *

 He knocked on Atia’s door, hiding his trembling hands in his coat.

There were footsteps, and time slowed as she opened the door.

Hothouse flowers and leather wafted to him. Her dress was a crimson second skin. He could see where her lingerie dimpled her firm hips - and where it didn’t. He had no words.

She gave him a slow half-smile that made him sweat. “Would you like to come in?”

He made a 7:30 reservation at a nearby French bistro, but he still stepped inside. She made sure to give him a long look at her ass before turning around.

She looked at the clock on her kitchen wall. “7:00 sharp. Thus far, you don’t disappoint.”

He smiled at his feet. He had no idea what to say.

“Stoic but sexy,” she said, and walked to her kitchen. “Would you like a drink before we go?” She waved at a bottle of vodka on her counter.

“Um...no thanks. Vodka’s not my thing.”

“I drink it like water,” she said, pouring it into a tumbler with a couple ice cubes.

He tipped his head. She noticed her error.

“That didn’t come out right. What I meant to say is that after spending three years in Russia, it goes down a lot smoother than other liquors. No aftertaste. Just … a clean burn.”

“You lived in Russia?” he asked. “Is there a big demand for French pastry chefs there?”

She took a generous sip of vodka. “Sure. Especially in the high-end hotels in the cities.”

“Where did you work?”

“In St. Petersburg,” she said. “It’s got a booming tourist industry.”

"Oh,” he said. “I never thought to go to Russia.” He winced. It sounded careless. She didn’t notice.

“Neither did I, but I just landed there. The business can be pretty wild.”

“The pastry chef business?” he said, smiling. “I never pegged it as a doorway to adventure.”

She turned her back to him and rolled her eyes. The vodka was loosening her lips.

“People love a tasty treat,” she said. To her, the metaphor was so obvious it made her want to giggle. She poured the rest of the drink down the drain. She needed to get her head right if she wanted to seduce him tonight.

The empty glass on her counter made him remember.

“I got you flowers!” he said. “They’re upstairs.”

She raised an eyebrow. “How old-fashioned of you.” There was a flash of embarrassment on his face. Again, she fucked up. “I adore a gentleman,” she said, smiling wide.

“Shall I get them?”

“Sure,” she said. “We’re in no hurry, right?” She struck a sexy pose against the counter.

He nodded and ran back to his apartment. As he was rushing out, his phone buzzed.

Tess.

She could leave a message. He stuffed it back in his pocket and went down the stairs, two at a time. He tried not to pant as he handed her the bouquet. She plucked a stalk of the small violet flowers from it. Her face changed, becoming harder. Her warm eyes solidified to cold metal.

“You’re more clever than you put out, detective,” she said, plucking at a bloom. “Or are you going to plead ignorance?”

He had no clue what she spoke about.

She circled him, her eyes traveling from his feet up to his eyes. Her walk was loose-hipped. Pugnacious.

“How long have you known? All along? Or did you figure it out after our little starlit interlude?

His phone vibrated against his leg. Again, it was Tess. Ever since they divorced, she rarely called twice in a row. But his head was swimming. His hackles were up.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to, Atia,” he said. She flicked his shoulder with the flowers.

“This pretty, pretty flower,” she said, waving it in his face.

“Yes?” Adrenaline made his muscles jump, but his brain wouldn’t catch up.

“Monkshood. Queen of poisons,” she said, winking at him. “I’m flattered, but I’m only a pawn.”

“What?” Realization dawned slowly.

“I underestimated you, detective. Most men don’t have enough blood left in their brain to realize I’m robbing them blind. I commend your inviolable self-control.” His phone buzzed again. A text.

**House is ablaze in red flame. Red red red!**

His and Tess’s own little SOS. It went from blue, to yellow, to orange, to red. In their 14 years of marriage and beyond, neither of them have ever needed to go beyond orange. And orange was someone stealing valuable evidence from her squad car while she cheated on him. What could it be?

She noticed he wasn’t paying attention and ran into the bedroom for her bugout bag, something she always kept ever since her foster care days back in Texas. She looked toward the camera.

“Sorry, Frank,” she said as she stuffed some extra clothes and money into the bag. “You paid me to seduce the dude. I tried. But I’m not gonna hurt the poor asshole. You didn’t pay me enough for that.”

In the living room,Hardy called Tess. God, he hoped it wasn’t Daisy.

“Hardy, where the fuck have you been?” She was out of breath.

“Settle, Tess. Is Daisy okay?” He tried to keep his voice calm.

“Daisy is fine-”

“-Then why red, Tess? Shit, you nearly gave me a coronary-”

“-the red stands. We need to talk. Now. In person.” She kicked off her pyjama pants and put on jeans. “I’ll meet you halfway if you like. Leave wherever you are now.”

“What is this about? I’m kinda in the middle of something-” he saw something from the corner of his eye. It was Atia, trying to sneak out.

“Freeze!” he yelled, and darted to close the front door. She dropped the bag and put her hands up. She looked completely different in yoga pants and a hoodie. Rough.

“I want no part of whatever this is. I just wanted to get out of buttfuck, Russia and Frank was the highest bidder.”

Tess was still yelling into the phone. “-someone’s got it for Frank Laz-”

He put the phone against his chest. Atia’s words were incomprehensible.

“What are you talking about? Where are you going?” He scowled at her.

“I was hired as leverage. That’s all I know.”

“Hired?”

“You didn’t think I was actually interested in you, did you? Of course not. That’s why you saw through it so quickly,” she nodded. She looked toward a corner of the room. “You should’ve found someone more at his level,” she said to the air. “But that wasn’t my decision.”

The phone vibrated in his hand.

“Who are you speaking to?” He looked around, squinting.

“Cameras,” she said.

Cameras. Everything that she said that night, and every time before, began to fall into place with almost audible clicks. Her sympathy. Her speech about moving on. The heart and soul. It was leverage.

“Leverage,” he said softly. His chest ached. Tess called him again. His brain moved a thousand miles a minute. Leverage. A manipulation, and exertion of force meant to control someone. But who would Frank need to keep under control with footage of him with another woman? Who would it hurt enough to continue to withstand constant physical and emotional abuse without complaint?

He tried to say her name, but ended up swallowing it because of his own desire. Pain bloomed in his chest. In a rare show of clemency, Dal patted his shoulder.

“Sorry, man. Money talks and all that.” She bent to whisper in his ear. “Tell Frank to go fuck himself when you catch ‘im. He gives me the creeps.”

He let her walk away without another word.


	10. Act Five, Part 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the waking nightmare of the last several days, Clara and Ieva take comfort in each other. Hardy processes Atia's confession, and heed's Tess's and Ellie's urgent call.

“No! This is the proper way to eat couscous,” Ieva said, dipping her hand in the steaming fluff. “With your hands.” She hissed and sucked her fingers. “Ooh! It’s still too hot.”

Clara giggled.

“How about a compromise? We can eat it out of the bowl, but with forks.” She leaned forward, biting her lip as she speared a tender piece of pumpkin. She made sure Ieva could see down her dress. It was crass, but she was desperate. She needed her lax, and eventually, sated. Maybe after she worked her magic, she could get her to spill what Frank was really doing treading water in Belarus.

She winked at Ieva.

“Fine.” Ieva threw four lamb chops on her plate and stripped one easily with her teeth. “These are so tiny. I don’t remember them being so small,” she said through a mouthful of  meat.

“Because too many countries fudge the numbers when it comes to what’s lamb and what’s full grown mutton,” Clara said. She picked at it, suddenly pensive. It seemed to be true in so many ways. She lost her appetite.

“It’s delicious, though,” she said, chewing on a tiny rib.

Clara wanted to cry. She didn’t want to use her body. Not for another second. And for a while, she thought Frank finally let her have that. But he always had a way to pull her back into the muck.

“What’s the matter?” Ieva said. “You look like someone shit in your couscous.”

She gave Ieva her most heart-rending smile.”It’s the pain medication. I felt like puking for a bit there.”

“Ohhh.” She knelt in front of Clara. “Do you want to skip dinner?”

Clara tucked a tendril of Ieva's blonde hair behind her ear. “But you’ve barely eaten,” Clara said.

“I can eat later,” Ieva said.

Clara spread her legs - just the slightest bit - and pulled her skirt up, then stood and pulled Ieva out of dining room, and into a dark corner of the hallway.

"Is everything alright?" Ieva said, but her voice trembled.

Clara wrapped her leg around Ieva’s. She felt Clara’s heat on her hip. Clara raked her fingers through Ieva’s hair and pressed her lips to her ear.

“For the last year, I’ve only felt fear and emptiness,” she said, then bit her lobe gently.

“Emptiness?” Ieva said. Clara’s fingers dipped into the waistband of Ieva’s jeans.

“The worst kind,” Clara said, tucking her face into Ieva’s neck. Her heart beat fast. Clara felt only hot skin underneath Ieva’s jeans. She was going commando. Clara flushed. It was all coming back to her. The furtive looks with dilated pupils. Ieva’s scent as she passed her by, faking indifference. Her own budding desire, buried under a mountain of terror and guilt.

Clara took Ieva’s face in her hands. “Let’s not play any more games. I don’t want to feel just ... pain anymore.” The lump in throat made her voice rough. She meant it.

Ieva took her hand and ran around the corner into a large coat closet.

She took Clara back into her arms. “There’s no cameras in here.” Although Clara could barely see her face, she heard the smile in Ieva's voice. Clara leaned against the wall, and Ieva pulled up her dress. Her fingertips grazed a bruise. Clara hissed. Ieva knelt and kissed it.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t do more,” Ieva said. Her mouth felt so good against Clara’s skin. It was a tenderness unmixed with shame or disgust.

“You couldn’t. He would’ve killed you too.” Clara sniffled. Poor, sweet Jan.

“Don’t cry,” Ieva said, rising to kiss Clara’s overheated face. She took Clara's face in her hands and caressed. Her soft butterfly kisses traveled down to Clara’s neck.

She forgot how good it felt. A woman, without Frank’s shadow ruining the sweetness. Clara tried to keep her mind on her task, but her resistance melted at the taste of Ieva’s sweat. Ieva whimpered into Clara’s breasts. Ieva pressed against her, and hiked up her skirt past her hips. She tried to caress gently, but her desire made her squeeze.

Clara moaned. Ieva stopped.

“Don’t stop,” Clara said. She lifted Ieva’s t-shirt over her head and threw it aside. Her hands went straight to Ieva’s small, firm breasts. Her nipples were pebble-hard against her palms. Clara bodily lifted her up, sucking nearly the whole breast in her aching mouth. She cursed at the pain, then licked. Ieva’s feet weren’t touching the floor.

“You’re stronger than you look,” Ieva said, giggling.

“There are many things you don’t know about me,” Clara said. She licked circles on her areola.

She squeezed Ieva’s ass and groaned. “You have the most gorgeous tits.” She rubbed her bruised lips on them. Ieva gasped.

“They do the job. Yours are better.” Ieva said, then slid her hand into Clara’s dress and squeezed.

“Bigger isn’t always better,” Clara said, putting her down.

“But I love abundance,” Ieva said, and pulled the low neckline of her dress down to expose her. Ieva’s mouth was hot and eager on her. Clara let out a loud moan when she latched onto her nipple.

“Shh,” Ieva said, and put her bandaged hand over Clara’s mouth. “The cam mics are sensitive.”

“So there is something in here?” Clara said.

“No,” Ieva said. She grazed her lip on her other nipple, then licked it wet. “There’s one in the hallway.”

Ieva really didn’t want Frank to see. But … why? If he was the one who told Ieva to-

Ieva parted Clara’s cuntlips and pressed her finger to her clit. She let out a yip. Ieva giggled.

“Cute.” Ieva touched her with expert fingers, pressing, caressing, stretching.  Clara unzipped Ieva’s jeans and put her hand between her legs. She was so wet. It made Clara forget where she was. She tried to fall to her knees, but Ieva grabbed her waist firmly and slid two fingers inside her.

“Oh my God-”

Ieva pressed her forehead to Clara’s clavicle as she fingered her deep, curling her fingers into her firm, slick flesh to find her g-spot. Once Clara trembled against her, she moved her hand quick and hard inside her. The hot silk sheathing her fingers made Ieva want to yell. How long had she wanted this very thing? She wanted to tease, but she had to know what Clara’s orgasm felt like.

Clara’s body stiffened, and she groaned softly. Warmth dripped off her wrist. Ieva sucked her fingers and licked along the edge of her palm to her wrist. Clara tasted like the mediterranean in early summer.

“Do it again,” Clara said into her neck.

Ieva rubbed Clara’s swollen clit as she curled her fingers inside her rhythmically. She kissed Clara’s neck, and smiled when she felt her rushing pulse. Her fingers sped up.

Clara touched her wrist. “Slower this time.”

“Yes, frau,” Ieva said jokingly. Clara moved her hips into Ieva's fingers. She added another one. The delicious stretch made Ieva whimper. Her own pussy dripped down to her thighs. She ached for release, and she was so close she might be able to get it from the emotional arousal alone. “You’re bossy,” Ieva said.

“Does it bother you?” Clara said, grinding her hips into Ieva’s hand.

“Fuck no.” She pulled her to the floor and rolled on top of her, using her hip to thrust her fingers deeper. Clara’s leg bumped rhythmically against the wall as Ieva fucked her, hard, her mouth over Clara’s bruised one to catch every breath.

Clara’s fingers turned to claws on Ieva’s slim hips. This was different. It was no manipulation. No matter how dedicated the whore, she wouldn’t lower herself to drink the breath of her jane. Clara suddenly wished she could see her eyes. Clara caressed down the curve of Ieva's hip and between her thighs. She was so hot. And as empty as Clara felt.

Clara wrapped her legs around Ieva and flipped her on her back.

“Wait, you’re not-”

“Shh,” Clara said as she pulled off her jeans. She cursed having to do this in a dusty closet. She wanted to see Ieva’s face. Her finger marks on Ieva’s hips. Ieva’s slick thighs, and the pink and gold between them.

She didn’t work Ieva up to it. She spread Ieva’s thighs wide and buried two fingers in her pussy, curling them like Ieva had done.

“Nein. Straight, liebchen,” she said through a trembling breath. Clara obeyed, and Ieva arched.

She was so soft. Clara rubbed her lips, then her cheeks against Ieva’s swollen cunt. Her hair was silky and wet against her lips. It was torture, since she couldn’t lick. Ieva’s thighs clamped around her shoulders. She quickened her rhythm, and added another finger. Ieva opened up for her, then squeezed deliciously as she neared orgasm.

Ieva put her feet on Clara’s bare shoulders. Her toes clenched tight on her skin with pleasure.

“If I can’t see it, I want to hear it,” Clara said. Lust took over her brain, and for the moment, she was no longer afraid. Let Frank hear them. Let him think he’s still in control. Maybe he was, but he couldn’t control this-

She fingered her deep, knowing that Ieva was ready.

Come. She wanted to know what Ieva tasted like. Something free. And, for the moment, only theirs.

Ieva gasped and tightened around her.

“Yes, honey, let it out,” Clara said, rubbing her thumb over Ieva’s clit. She squinted. All she could see is the gleam of Ieva’s cheekbone and her eyeshine.

“Let me hear you.” Clara’s fingers didn’t let up. Ieva was trembling. Clara moved up Ieva's body.  She pressed her ear against Ieva’s panting mouth and wrapped her arm around her waist.

“Don’t hold-” Ieva lifted them both with her bucking. She whimpered in Clara’s ear, and moved her hips slower and slower, riding out the waves of pleasure into Clara's hand. Clara caressed the hair from her sweaty neck and kissed it.

“Will you let me finish now?” Ieva said, rubbing her lips against Clara’s temple.

“Finish?” Clara said.

“This.” Ieva pulled her up - she was strong with orgasm - and positioned Clara over her mouth. Without missing a beat, Clara ground into her, aching as she was by their shared pleasure. Ieva spurred her on, moving her hips faster. Clara held on to the wall and tried not to cry out as Ieva’s tongue moved feverishly quick over and in her. Over and in. Over and in. And in. And in. And in…

The orgasm shot past her heart and straight to her head. For a few seconds, there was only bliss and her face hurt from smiling.

Ieva hugged her close, and put her hand over Clara’s mouth. Clara collapsed against her, grateful.

“You’re too loud,” Ieva said. Clara kissed her palm and gently pulled it away.

“It’s been a while,” Clara said.

They lay back on the carpeted floor and enjoyed each other’s warmth. Ieva sighed.

“Don’t you and Frank ever-” she started, but Clara hissed and put her hand over Ieva’s mouth.

“-it’s not real with him. It’s survival. It doesn’t count.”

Ieva nodded. She completely understood. Ieva caressed Clara’s body.

“Do you hurt?”

“The pain’s too far away to notice,” Clara said, hugging her closer. Ieva kissed her forehead. She wondered what Hardy and Atia were doing. Regardless of what just happened, she dreaded checking Hardy's feed again. She would eventually have to show Clara video evidence of him vigorously forgetting her with another woman. She was already so fragile. Clara sighed into Ieva’s neck, already in the first phase of merciful sleep.

She decided to hold off the true confessions until later. In any case, there was no need to ruin whatever it was that was happening between them. Ieva dressed. Her muscles still twitched, and her thighs were slick. First bout was over, and she already looked forward to the next. She pulled Clara back into her arms.

_Maybe Clara can move on too. Move on, and far, far way. I can keep us hidden until Frank’s too old or sick to keep trying to find her..._

The thought was selfish. After Clara’s train wreck of a life, was she just another feral animal, eager to consume?

Clara sniffed her neck and said her name softly.   _Her_ name, not anyone else’s. It made her want to cry.

“Let’s get you to bed, beautiful,” she said, pulling up Clara’s lax frame.

“No, this is such a nice sleep…” Clara said, but she slung her arm around Ieva’s shoulder. Ieva buttoned her up and stuck her head out the closet door. The hallway was dark and quiet.

Once in the bedroom, she let her fall gently on the mattress. Clara crawled under the covers and held out her hand.

“Come. At least until I’m asleep.”

“Frank will see.”

“Friendly sleeps,” Clara said, pulling Ieva in beside her. She put her head on Ieva’s chest and smiled. It was so nice to hear a sympathetic heart-

There was a momentary twinge of memory, but it melted away at the feel of Ieva’s lips on the top of her head.

“Really friendly,” Ieva said, closing her eyes.

* * *

Hardy’s phone buzzed for the fourth time. He swiped the screen.

“Are you on your way?” For a split second, he was confused. He assumed it was Tess. But it was Ellie’s voice, with the same edge of tension as Tess’s.

“Miller?”

“Come to my house. We’re waiting for you here.”

“Tess called me-”

Ellie cut him off. “-NOW.” She hung up.

He rose slowly, wincing at his clicking knee. He couldn’t see what was in front of him now. How could he drive an hour and a half to Miller’s?

He dialed Tess. She answered immediately. He heard road sounds.

“You on your way?”

“Leverage, Tess. The woman said ‘leverage’,” he said. He was hoarse with emotion.

“Say no more. Just get your shit together, get your ass in the car and get to Ellie’s.” There was no excitement left in her voice. In fact - maybe it was because he felt blown out - he heard compassion. He stood in the middle of Atia’s (was that even her name?) living room and looked beyond.

Even in his thoughts, he didn’t dare utter it. Did he hear correctly? Could it mean what he thought it meant? Who else _could_ it be? He shook, once, as if hit with a bolt of electricity. His senses came back to him, painfully sharp. Sweat beaded his brow, and he clenched his hand to a fist. He closed his burning eyes.

He had to get his feelings under control and go to Miller and Tess. The women he loved. Miller and Tess.

Miller. Tess...

And Clara.

He ran.

 

-End of Act Five-


End file.
